


A Day in the Death

by Sioux



Category: Supernatural
Genre: OFC - Freeform, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 22:15:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 32,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17989505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sioux/pseuds/Sioux
Summary: This is an updated repost.





	A Day in the Death

**Author's Note:**

> This is an updated repost.

 

'Please, please! My wife. Where is she?' he slurred.

Longhurst looked into the ruined face as the jaw continued to move, grotesquely mis-shapen.

'My son and my brother...'

The dawning look of horror on her face made the injured man redouble his efforts.

'Please!'

The young woman was efficiently moved out of the way by an older woman.

'Mr Grainger, you need to stop talking whilst we treat you.'

'My family!' he begged.

'They’re in another ambulance,' she replied.

'Are they OK?' he asked.

'I’m sorry, I don’t know,' the nurse admitted as she expertly inserted a shunt port into the inside of his right arm and attached a second IV line.

He squeezed her hand briefly.

'I’ll try and find out what I can and let you know. OK?' She smiled down at him, her chubby face and warm brown eyes radiating kindness.

The man, Philip Grainger, tried to smile back but his face wouldn’t cooperate.

'What’s your name?' he asked, carefully, his shattered jaw making his words indistinct.

'Clipper, Gloria Clipper,' she replied applying gauze to the areas of open flesh across his face, carefully keeping his eyeball, which was resting on his cheek, covered. She knew from experience that his eye and eyesight could be saved, although given the extent of his other injuries his eye may be the least of his worries.

A man in scrubs appeared at the other side of his bed. 

'Mr Grainger, I’m Dr Stewart. I’m going to give you something which will make you feel very numb then send you to sleep.'

Outside Gloria could hear the sound of activity but without accompanying sirens. Not a good sign.

Dr Stewart injected the sedative and anaesthetic, his eyes meeting Gloria’s briefly before both got down to work, trying to save the patient’s life.

Quietly three more gurneys were wheeled in. Their occupants ominously quiet, waiting for a doctor to fill in the paperwork.

***

Several hours later, after the aftermath of three more vehicular incidents had been dealt with, Gloria turned back to Philip Grainger. He had died less than thirty minutes after being admitted to hospital. His wife, son and his brother had all predeceased him, being pronounced DOA at the hospital.

She adjusted the sheet, which had slipped slightly, and straightened up. Her back was aching and she was bone deep tired having worked a double shift and then some. Nurse Longhurst tried to avoid catching her eye.

'Eva!' Clipper called sharply, 'Let’s get this over with.'

Longhurst nodded and meekly followed Clipper into an empty office. Clipper sat behind the desk and motioned for Longhurst to take a seat in front.

'I take it I don’t have to go through why you’re here?' Clipper asked, her voice betraying no emotion.

Longhurst shook her head.

'It’s not the first time Eva.'

'I know. It was just so… Just so terrible to see.'

'I’m sure Mr Grainger would have agreed with you, had he lived. But you, as a professional nurse, are failing in your duty to the patient if you let your empathy and compassion overcome you so much that you fail to treat the patient.'

Longhurst sniffed and hung her head.

'Eva, compassion, in the right circumstances makes a good nurse into a great nurse.'

After a long silence, broken only by Longhurst’s sniffing, she finally asked haltingly,

'Nurse Clipper, do you think I’ve got what it takes to make it in the profession?'

Clipper leaned back in the chair.

'You have the technical aspects of nursing down fine, you understand and can use the technology, you get on with patients in a non-emergency situation well. Your problem is your tendency to freeze in a gory emergency.'

Clipper was silent for a few seconds before adding, 

'You know Eva, there are other avenues open for good nurses which don’t include the emergency room or ICU.'

'But I really, really want to work in the emergency room!'

Clipper sighed and licked her lips trying not to grimace at the slow fire of heartburn she could feel starting in her chest.

'I tell you what; I’m on leave for the next two days. Take that time to think about what you can do to overcome this problem. When I get back we’ll talk over your findings and see what we can do.'

Tearfully Longhurst nodded.

'Sorry to be such a trouble, Nurse Clipper.'

'It's part of my job, Eva.' She smiled getting up from her chair then rubbed her chest fiercely.

'Are you OK?'

'Heartburn,' Clipper replied shortly, as the pain blossomed.

'Hold on, I’ll get you some water,' Longhurst said and darted out of the office, returning scant seconds later with a paper cup of very cold water.

'Sip slowly,' she instructed, then coloured up as she remembered who she was talking to.

Clipper felt the pain ease substantially after the first couple of sips.

'That’s better,' she sighed. 'Thank you, Eva.'

Eva nodded then said, 

'Not sure how you could get heartburn when you haven’t eaten for hours.'

'Probably hunger pangs,' Clipper replied standing up and throwing the cup in the bin. 'Not eating doesn’t seem to make a difference to this through,' she said, patting her ample belly and midriff. 'Will you help me get Mr Grainger down to the morgue? It’s not good to have him up here and the technicians are going to be busy for a while.'

'Sure,' Eva said.

Together they manoeuvred Mr Grainger’s gurney into the lift and down to the basement. Cool air met them when the lift doors opened. Down here the lighting seemed much dimmer than where live patients were. Longhurst always felt there was a peculiar faint scent in the air. Logically she knew it wasn’t true, but, all the same, the air smelt different down here.

Companionably they pushed the gurney through the double doors and through into the mortuary area. Sheet covered bodies were lined up on each side of the corridor all the way up to the autopsy room. The air conditioning was on full in here, due to all the corpses having nowhere else to be put; the freezing cold bringing Eva’s arms up in immediate goosebumps.

There was no room to slot Philip Grainger into the line of waiting corpses. The gurneys weren’t quite head to toe so Gloria told Eva to hold onto Mr Grainger, half in and half out of the door whilst she pushed the eight strong line closer together creating enough room to slot him in at the end. 

'He’s back with his family,' Gloria remarked, flipping a sheet from the gurneys below Grainger, revealing his wife and son. 

She looked up and smiled at Eva.

'Why don’t you go back to the lifts and wait for me. I’ll go and tell Dr Goddard he’s got another customer.'

Eva smiled and nodded gratefully, more than happy to be out of the way of this part of the hospital.

Gloria put the sheets back into place and turned the other way, her large, solid figure casting bouncing shadows on the walls. Confidently she walked across the autopsy room and into the little annexe which housed Dr Goddard’s office and the shared office of his four technicians.

'Dave, you in?' she shouted as she knocked.

'Come in Glo. What brings you down here?' he asked. 'Ye gods, you look tired!' he exclaimed, getting a proper look at her.

'Lots of work upstairs,' she replied, flopping down in his visitor’s chair. 'Brought you another customer; Philip Grainger. His notes are with him,' she said.

'I hope you’re going home now,' he replied, looking at her over his glasses.

'Soon. I wanted a quick word with you.'

He raised his eyebrows questioningly, whilst scrabbling around in his desk drawer and withdrawing a bottle of single malt plus two glasses. Pouring a generous measure into each glass he handed one to her. She took it but remained silent, studying its golden brown depths.

'You wanted a word?' he reminded her.

'Mmm. Eva Longhurst.'

She took a large sip of the malt, held it in her mouth for a few seconds to warm it then swallowed.

'Your nurse who can’t stand the sight of blood?'

'Well, she’s not quite that bad, but yes, that’s her.'

'You want I should provide some desensitization therapy?'

'It’s the only thing I haven’t tried with her. She froze again today.'

'On my new customer?' he asked, making an accurate guess.

She nodded.

'Anything else you should tell me?'

'No! Poor Mr Grainger was so badly injured I’m amazed he made it to the ER.'

Goddard relaxed again.

'He was so worried about the rest of his family, that’s all he was asking about.'

'How’s his family taking it?'

'They’re all reunited now,' she replied dryly.

He wrinkled his nose and took a gulp of scotch.

She took a larger drink, staring into space.

Goddard was used to her way of thinking having been friends with her since she’d emigrated from England to America twenty or more years ago.

'Yeah, I think that might do the trick.'

Goddard nodded. 'When do you want to start?'

'I said I’d have a chat with her when I get back in. I’ll do that and introduce the idea to her.'

She threw back the rest of the drink and stood up. Goddard took his glasses off and said, 'Why don’t you come over tomorrow night? Its months since we all had dinner together.'

'Is Esther off as well?'

He nodded, smiling as her face lightened.

'That sounds like a plan, I’ll bring some wine,' she said.

'Bring your overnight bag as well. You can sleep it off in the spare room. See you around four.'

'Early,' she remarked.

'I have a new batch of tasters in from the Highland society. Thought we could all have a pre-dinner snifter or two.'

'Ooo, I’ll be there. God help my liver, but I’ll be there!'

He laughed as she left.

She walked back through the morgue reflecting that the rather pleasant Lagavulin Dave kept in his desk had done nothing to help her heartburn though the prospect of dinner and catching up with her old friends kept the half smile on her face.

In the corridor the light at the far end had gone out, leaving the last four gurneys shrouded in darkness. She stopped for a moment thinking she could see someone. Dismissing it impatiently as a shadow she carried on walking. As she got nearer she could see that the sheets covering Philip Grainger and his family had been folded back to reveal their faces. The myriad cuts on Mrs Grainger’s face made stark, dark lines against her pale skin. Their son and Grainger’s brother were hardly marked, facially. Then she knew she wasn’t imagining things, there was someone else there.

'Hey! You!' she shouted, breaking into a jog trot. 'What do you think you’re doing?'

A dark skinned man dressed in black robes was dancing around the bodies, in total silence. His mouth moving, forming words she couldn’t hear. He looked up, startled at her shout, stopped for a second then pulled a cloth bag out of the sleeve of his robe.

'Hey!' she shouted again.

The dark man put his hand in the bag and began scattering what appeared to be brownish powder over the four bodies.

From the direction of Dr Goddard’s office she could faintly hear Dave saying, 'Glo? You alright?'

Putting on a turn of speed she didn’t know she still possessed she rushed towards the man, knocking the bag and its contents all over the corridor, the Grainger family, herself and the man as well. She breathed in and sneezed violently as she inhaled the dust. The man sneezed too then began shouting at her in some unknown language. She couldn’t understand a word he was saying.

Suddenly her world closed in on her. Pain flared like a vice rushing up her chest into her jaws, her left arm twitching and useless at her side. Her sight narrowed to a small bright patch of ceiling as she seemed to be falling, backwards, very, very slowly. From far away she could hear Dave Goddard’s voice shouting, then Eva Longhurst’s voice. Someone was touching her, touching her face. She was looking up at Eva’s face which, for some reason, was upside down. 

'Gloria, don’t worry, Dr Goddard is getting his bag. We’ll get you upstairs as soon as we can.' Eva smiled down at her, sounding and looking reasonably calm.

Gloria wanted to tell her that this was exactly the kind of professionalism she had been lacking up to now. She tried to open her mouth, but the pain increased, stopping her voice in her throat.

'Try not to speak Gloria,' Longhurst instructed.

Gloria felt Eva take hold of her hand as the pain struck again, white hot and burning. 

Somewhere, in the depths of her nurse’s mind, she realised her upper torso was resting on Longhurst’s knees. The other woman was almost cradling her in her arms. It had been a long time since anyone had held her like that. It felt very comforting, giving Gloria a feeling of safety. She tied to smile at Eva but her face didn’t seem to want to obey her brain. It was getting very dark too, almost too dark to see anything clearly at all. She couldn’t feel much any more either; not Longhurst’s hand holding hers, or her knees under her back. She caught Dave’s voice talking but she was feeling rather too tired to listen properly. Her last thought before her brain went completely dark on her was that she hoped Dave had seen the strange man and managed to call security.

 

Feeling very groggy and disorientated Gloria pushed at whatever it was covering her face and sat up. As she moved very cold air flowed over her breasts. She looked down. Someone had taken a pair of scissors to the front of her scrub top, from top to bottom, and cut through her undershirt and bra as well. She immediately pulled the edges of the cotton together to preserve her modesty. She looked around. No wonder it was cold, she thought to herself, she was in the corridor outside the mortuary, on one of the gurneys. The four in front of her were empty, the sheets lying rumpled across the surface. She put her feet to the floor and stood, thinking it was lucky that the place was deserted so no-one had seen her inadvertently flashing her boobs. She knew she had a spare outfit in her locker which would have to do. She was a little hazy on why she was down here in the first place. The last thing she could remember, with any clarity, was having a word with Eva Longhurst. After that, things got a bit jumbled. Maybe she had come down to see Dave and fallen asleep on him. Putting her on a gurney with a sheet would be par for his sense of humour!

Holding her top together she made her way to the locker room and into her spare outfit without meeting anyone she knew. By the feel of the hospital, it was late night or even early morning. She checked her watch; ten after midnight, no wonder it was quiet. She’d been asleep for hours. Putting on her coat and collecting her purse, she left the hospital and went to her car. 

On the drive home she remembered she’d run out of eggs, bacon, bread and milk so she stopped off at a small all night place. Paying the exorbitant price demanded, she got back in her car and carried on driving home. The green numerals of her car clock showed one fourteen as she garaged her car and got out. 

It was an old fashioned garage, some distance from her house. The walk along the drive to her door didn’t worry her, she’d done it too many times before. Letting herself in she put the lights on, and took her coat off. Deciding to make a soothing drink before bed she went to the fridge, and then remembered she hadn’t brought her shopping in. Cursing her absent mindedness, she started the walk back to the garage. Collecting the bag of groceries, she began the return trip. This time though, she knew she wasn’t alone. She could feel someone watching her. Several someones, in fact. She slowed her pace and tried to look around without making it obvious. 

Trees screened her property from the small, quiet road. There were also trees to the side and the rear of the property which screened her from the cemetery fifty yards away at the back. She’d always joked she never had a problem with her nearest neighbours. Now she was wishing her house wasn’t quite so remote from other people. Her nearest living neighbour was some half mile further down the road. 

Casually she picked up her pace past the side of the garage which was when she saw them; four people heading towards her from the direction of the cemetery. They didn’t seem to be moving particularly fast although they were covering the ground well enough. Deciding to brazen it out she called out sharply,

'Hello! Can I help you?'

When the four people didn’t answer back she said, 'Do you know you’re on private property?'

Again, the four didn’t answer and didn’t stop. A peculiar smell floated to her, initially sweet then deeply unpleasant. A smell she hadn’t ever forgotten from her training days. Putrefaction and pretty advanced too. The first of the four stepped into the light from her security lamp on the side of the house. 

Gloria froze, blinked deliberately and looked again. The four people advancing on her were dressed in ragged clothing which hung on their emaciated frames but it was their faces which arrested her gaze. Without doubt these people had been dead for some weeks, perhaps even months. Their appearance could, no doubt, be faked with make-up but the smell issuing from them couldn’t. Gloria swallowed hard and began skirting around the little group. 

What the hell was going on?

The one in front moved his face in what she interpreted as an attempt at a smile and gestured her forward and gurgled. Clinically she saw that without his soft palate, tongue and lips any attempts at speech would be unintelligible, she only guessed he was trying to speak. He hung his head, obviously frustrated, and tried again. 

She shook her head. He may have been asking directions back to his grave or threatening her life, she didn’t know. The other three shuffled forwards into the light, their appearance even more shocking than the first man’s. One part of her brain observed them, cataloguing their condition; definitely stage four putrefaction. A high percentage of soft tissue had gone, and their clothing had rotted at a similar rate; coffin liquor would be the main culprit. It appeared that, unusually, none of the individuals had been embalmed and judging from the trouser and jacket outfits, she assumed them all to have been male. Otherwise, with just shreds of tissue and bone left, at a glance, gender was impossible to determine.

The other part of her brain was gibbering in terror. 

The leader bobbed his head at her and beckoned again, apparently giving up on making sounds.

She shook her head and edged closer to her front door. Another movement amongst the trees from the cemetery caught her eye. A further three men were advancing on her. The first four didn’t seem to notice them until one of the men flung a handful of powder over the nearest rotted corpse and shouted something at him. Gloria recognised a couple of words as being Latin, but he spoke too quickly for her to understand what he’d said. The effect of the words and powder was electric. The man tottered to a standstill, tried to turn but lost his footing. He hit the ground and stayed still.

The other three walking corpses turned away from her towards the second group of men. This time there was no mistaking the menace in their gait. They were annoyed. One of them picked up a branch and wielded it like a club. The eldest man of the second trio flung more powder at him and chanted what seemed to be the same set of Latin phrases. The branch dropped from the dead hands as he too hit the ground and lay still. 

The leader of the dead group picked up the branch as a very tall, young man waded in, heading for the last and the slowest mover. 

The sight of a skeletal man in tattered clothing facing down a pair of young, Viking-like warriors, looked like something out of a super heroes movie. One she never expected to see enacted in her front yard.

The slightly smaller of the younger man shouted,

'Careful Sam!' as the leader changed direction, heading for the taller man.

He lifted the branch, apparently aiming to brain Sam with it. The other man stepped close behind the dead man. Suddenly reversing his hold on the branch, the dead man jabbed it back finding his target. He yelled as his upper arm was impaled on the branch. The dead man gave it another hard shove. 

Gloria saw the branch emerge from his body towards his shoulder. Then the dead man gave it a vicious pull. Judging by the extreme sound of pain, the branch hurt a hell of a lot more coming out than going in.

'Dean!' Sam screamed.

'Do it!' Dean yelled back, his arm effectively useless at his side.

Sam threw powder at the dead man and chanted. The man fell to the ground, as still as his other two fallen companions.

'Bobby, I’m out of dust,' Sam shouted urgently to the older man.

'I got it,' the older man, Bobby, yelled back. 

Smartly stepping up behind the last man, Bobby emptied his bag of powder over his head. The dead man clawed at his skin where the powder had touched him. Bobby recited Latin at him until he too lay still on the ground.

For a few seconds Gloria didn’t know what to do. Had she really seen four dead men walking across her drive? 

Gasps of pain from the injured man released her from her inaction. Sam already at his companion’s side.

She ran forward looking for something, anything, with which to apply pressure to the wound. Finding nothing she stripped off her scrub top, leaving her undershirt on, and used the cloth. He was bleeding heavily.

'Let’s get him into the house,' she said firmly.

The three men looked at her then Sam and Bobby exchanged looks.

'I’m an emergency room nurse, your friend needs medical attention. Bring him into the house where I can treat him before you take him to hospital.'

Bobby nodded and stepped up to the other side of the injured man. Between them, Sam and Bobby walked him slowly into the house.

Sam and Bobby sat the man, Dean, in a chair at the kitchen table then Gloria fetched her medical kit and cleared the table ready to treat the injury.

Her patient was pale and sweating, shocked and had lost a fair amount of blood. By the way he was bleeding she was sure he’d been incredibly lucky and the branch had missed his brachial artery.

'I’m Gloria, Gloria Clipper. Dean, is it?' 

The man nodded.

'OK Dean, we need to get your coat and shirt off so I can look at this wound.'

He nodded and submitted to the tall man helping him. The older man opened her medical kit and began to lay out the items she would need.

'You have some medical training, Bobby?' she asked looking up at him. She barely reached his shoulder, the two younger men were even taller than Bobby.

'We’ve stitched each other up a time or two,' he replied, shortly.

Gloria turned and concentrated on her patient. His arm was bruising already and, as it was a penetrating wound, she couldn’t see how much rubbish from the branch was still embedded in there.

'I can bind this up, but I don’t recommend stitching it until it’s been cleaned out. You’re going to need antibiotics as well.'

'Can’t you do it?' Dean asked, from between gritted teeth.

'I haven’t got all the equipment I’d need. You need the wound properly cleaned before the damage is repaired.'

Efficiently she rigged up a pressure bandage and applied it to Dean’s arm then put his arm in a sling.

'The hospital is twenty minutes away, the dressing will hold until you get there. Do you have transport or shall I call an ambulance?'

'We’re OK, we’ve got a car. I’ll bring it round,' Sam replied.

'I’ll get you a blanket,' she said to Dean.

Whilst she left to get a blanket for Dean she could hear him and Bobby talking in low tones, too low for her to make out any actual words.

She draped the blanket over Dean’s shoulders, pulling it around to keep him warm and cover him. Whilst doing so she noticed a few more scars on his body, a couple of which looked like gun shot wounds. It seemed that Dean was no stranger to hospitals.

'What were those... things?' she asked.

'Perhaps it would be best if you forgot you ever saw them, Ma’am,' Bobby replied.

She rubbed her face tiredly.

'I can recognise and smell a dead body when I see one. However, the ones I usually see don’t walk around and try to talk to me. What were they?'

'I’ll deal with them, Ma’am,' Bobby said, side-stepping the question.

'That wasn’t what I asked!' she said sharply in her best Senior Nurse voice.

'Zombies. They were zombies,' Dean replied, with a sideways glance at Bobby.

She opened her eyes wide at his explanation. 

'Are there any more?'

'Don’t think so,' Bobby said shortly.

'And what causes them? Am I going to wake up to find I’ve been invaded by my nearest neighbours?'

Dean shook his head. 'Someone raised them, deliberately.'

'And your magic powder kills them again?'

Bobby nodded. 'Takes a deal of time finding the ingredients and making it. But it does work.'

'How do you know about these things?'

'It’s a long story, Ma’am.'

She looked at Bobby and accurately surmised he wasn’t going to tell her the long story.

The growl of a powerful car engine heralded Sam’s return.

'What did they want with me?' she asked.

'That I don’t know. I have never seen those creatures react like that before.'

'And you’ve seen a lot of these creatures?'

Sam’s precipitous entrance into the kitchen lost her her answer.

'Sam, you get Dean to the hospital and I’ll deal with the folks outside,' Bobby said, helping Dean to rise.

'I can go with you if you want?' Gloria offered.

'That’s kind of you but you’ve had enough trouble for one night,' Bobby replied.

Gloria didn’t think for one second that was the reason they didn’t want her accompanying them, but, whatever got them off her property and out of her life the quickest, was fine by her.

She nodded. 'Sam, they may want to keep Dean in overnight for observation and to make sure the antibiotics are working.'

'OK.' 

As the door closed on them she heard Dean say, irritably, 

'I can walk to the car without help, Sammy.'

'Yeah, sure you can. And it’s Sam.'

'Either a very volatile relationship or they’re related,' she remarked to Bobby.

'They’re related Ma’am. Brothers.'

'Call me Gloria.'

'Bobby. I’ll go get my truck then I can get the bodies out of your yard a bit quicker.'

Bobby disappeared into the dark, apparently not worried that he may meet more zombies on the way.

Frankly, Gloria didn’t think either Bobby or the two brothers would ever show their faces again, which left her with the problem of four rotted corpses, but she was wrong.

She'd picked up her scattered shopping and taken it inside and put the kettle on when an old truck pulled onto her drive and parked near to the bodies.

Bobby jumped down from the cab, leaving the engine running. He bent down over the first body, preparing to pick it up with his bare hands.

'Bobby, wait,' she called.

Obediently he straightened up. 

'I’ve got some old sheets I use for dust covers when painting. If we use one of them it should be easier.

Bobby nodded, seeing sense in her suggestion.

She strode across to an outbuilding which was built partially underground.

'An old ice-house,' Bobby said, recognising the type of building.

'I thought it must have been but I wasn’t sure.'

'You’re right. Built almost underground to keep the place cool in summer.'

'I’d never seen one before coming here.'

'You're English, right?' he asked.

'That's right. I'm from Manchester, England. You’ve probably never heard of it.'

'Cotton mills, birth of the co-operative movement, Peterloo Massacre; yes, I’ve heard of it.'

'I’m impressed,' she replied, pushing open the door and pulling on a switch. 

The room was used for storage now. Decking furniture, shelves which held gardening accessories and a barbeque with gardening implements stored in one corner. A stool stood near the door. She picked it up and placed it under one of the sets of shelves, then prepared to stand on it to reach the topmost shelving. Gently Bobby touched her shoulder saying,

'I’ll do that, Gloria.'

She stood aside smiling. 

He easily reached up and pulled down a folded sheet.

'There are some gardening gloves over there,' she said, nodding in the direction whilst putting the footstool away.

'Gloves?'

She straightened up and looked him in the eye.

'I’m not proposing we touch corpses with bare hands, even if they are of vintage character!'

Bobby acknowledged the remark and took down the gloves. He winced when he saw the size. To say they would be tight on his hands would be an understatement.

***

Working together it didn’t take long to roll the corpses onto the sheet them lift them into the truck bed.

'What are you going to do with them? Rebury them in the cemetery?'

Bobby hesitated whilst taking off his gloves for half a second too long.

'You’re not just going to dump them?'

'No, I won’t dump them.'

She lifted her eyebrows.

Bobby sighed wondering how this small, plump Englishwoman could get both Dean and himself to talk.

'I’m going to salt the bodies and then burn them.'

He gestured with his head to the five large containers in the back of the truck.

'And what does that do?' she asked.

'Makes sure whoever is raising these folks can’t do it again. Or at least not these good people.'

She nodded seeing the logic in burning them but not the salting.

'Why put salt on them?'

'Salt purifies,' he replied shortly.

'Like in ritual magic?'

He looked up sharply at her.

'I read a lot,' she explained. 'Would I be correct in assuming the normal law enforcement agencies can’t, or won’t, do anything about the person who is doing this?'

'If you want to try and report this go ahead, but let me get out of here with my cargo first,' Bobby replied.

A rueful smile crossed her face just thinking about how the conversation with her local sheriff’s department might go.

As Bobby was turning away to get back into the cab his phone rang.

'Yeah?'

He listened for a minute then turned to look at Gloria.

‘What?’ she mouthed.

'You sure?' he asked, turning away from her. 'Not exactly normal behaviour.' He grunted a couple of times then asked, 'How’s Dean?'

Gloria realised it must be Sam on the phone. Placidly she went on tidying, folding the sheet and placing it with the bodies then, as an after thought, putting her gardening gloves there too. Considering what she had been touching she didn’t want to use them again, even on the few plants she managed to kill with neglect every Springtime. As Bobby was going to be setting a pyre they could go in with the bodies.

Suddenly she stopped what she doing. Talk about taking things in your stride! Here she was after having survived approaches from four walking and almost talking corpses, seen them despatched back to really dead. And had then treated an injured young man plus helped gather the dead ready for their forthcoming cremation. What a night! And it was only just after three in the morning. She wiped her face with her hand. Oddly enough she didn’t feel that tired, or hungry. On the nightshift around this time she invariably got the munchies. Must be the unusual work she was doing she decided. She shook herself out of her introspection to see Bobby looking at her unwaveringly.

'Sorry, did you say something?' she asked, thinking he was waiting for an answer.

He shook his head.

'How’s Dean?'

'He’ll be fine. The hospital wanted to keep him in but he’s as stubborn as his old man.'

'He won’t leave without getting his antibiotic script filled, will he?'

'No. Sam wouldn’t let him do that.'

She smiled and nodded.

'Sam did say there are a lot of police at the hospital. There’ve been some thefts.'

'What’s been stolen?'

'Bodies. Five of them. The Grainger family plus a member of staff who passed away on duty earlier this evening.'

'Oh Lord! All of the Graingers?'

He nodded.

'Poor Philip,' she murmured to herself.

'You knew them?' Bobby questioned.

She nodded. 'Philip Grainger was the only member of his family who survived the initial car smash. The rest of them were pronounced DOA at the hospital. Philip's injuries were catastrophic, he passed thirty minutes after admission. I took him down to the morgue myself.'

She was silent, communing with her memories for a few seconds before asking, 'Did you say a member of staff? Did he get a name?'

'Yeah. Gloria Clipper.'

For some seconds neither of them said a word. 

Gloria stared at him, completely shocked. Bobby’s face was expressionless. Then Gloria laughed nervously.

'Oh very good! You had me going there.'

There was no answering smile.

'What do you remember about this evening?' he asked.

'Don’t be ridiculous!'

'You tell me about your evening and I'll decide if I'm being ridiculous.'

'I think I'd know if I'd been raised from the dead. Sam just got the wrong name, that's all.' 

Bobby waited, in silence.

'I'm here, I'm fine. The dead don’t walk and talk!' As soon as the words left her lips she knew she'd said the wrong thing.

'Sure they don’t,' Bobby replied, his eyes flickering to his cargo. He reached out to touch her hand.

'What are you doing?' she asked, backing out of reach.

'If I find a pulse I’ll ring Sam back and tell him he’s got it wrong.'

'I’m more than capable of finding my own pulse,' she snapped, placing all her right hand fingers on her left radial pulse. Irritably she shifted them a little, then again, then she switched hands. The cold silence continued under her questing fingers. Huffing she checked her carotid artery. Nothing. Placing her hands on her chest she still couldn’t feel any movement under her hands. Given how she was feeling her heart should have been racing and she should have been breathing hard. In fact, come to think of it, she couldn't feel herself breathing at all. Glancing at Bobby she surprised a look of compassion which he quickly masked. 

Small clouds of vapour rolled from his nose at regular intervals, whilst there was nothing in front of her face. No heartbeat, no breath.

'This is stupid!' she spat. 'I’m dreaming, that’s what it is. I’ve fallen asleep and I’m dreaming this.'

Hesitantly Bobby offered his own hand, palm up. She grabbed him then let go suddenly. His hand had felt burning hot to her. She looked down at her own hands, rubbing her finger ends together. She could feel the motion but it felt muted, as if she were wearing a pair of nitrile gloves; the sensation slightly muffled.

'My hands are cold, aren’t they?'

Bobby swallowed and nodded. More gently this time she took his hand and professionally took his pulse. A little fast, but there.

'Thank you,' she said mechanically, letting him go. She didn't know what to say or do. She felt fine. OK, not breathing and her heart wasn't beating, but, otherwise she felt fine.

Bobby nodded looking uncomfortable.

'Earlier this evening, you said earlier this evening?'

'Yeah.'

She turned to face the light, putting her back to Bobby, then pulled up her undershirt to expose her midriff putting one hand to her chest to flatten her breasts. When she didn't see what she was looking for she started to twist around, pulling the back of her shirt up trying to see the backs of her arms.

'What is it?' Bobby asked.

'I’m looking for…' she twisted the other way.

'Looking for what?'

'Evidence of liver mortis.'

Giving up her efforts to see her own back without the aid of a mirror, Gloria set off towards her home, Bobby in close pursuit. He followed her inside and was about to follow her into the bathroom until the door was slammed smartly in his face. The unmistakable sound of the lock clicking into place, with a decisive snap, following.

Gloria pulled her shirt over her head and turned her back to the long mirror built into the swivel storage stand, looking over her shoulder at her reflection. Her back sported a bruise like appearance apart from the area around her shoulder blades, these were pale. The backs of her arms were pale too. Gingerly she pulled off her trousers, knickers and bra; the classic pattern of a body which had been left to lie on it’s back, being revealed. Darker, bruise-like skin where the blood collects, under the force of gravity, once the heart ceases to beat, with paler parts where tissues have been compressed; shoulder blades, backs of the arms, buttocks, calves. Turning she saw bruising over her sternum which told her someone had worked hard on trying to restart her heart. She touched her round protruding belly, looking for signs of the tissue turning bright blue in initial decomposition, which generally began around the pelvic area. So far she couldn’t see any blue patches. Experimentally she clenched her fist. The muscles moved easily. She checked her watch; three forty a.m. There should have been some signs of rigor mortis by now, but, thankfully, she couldn’t feel any stiffening of any part of her body.

Bobby banged on the door.

'Gloria?'

'I’m alright,' she shouted back, unwilling to face him, curiously ashamed.

'Come out Gloria then we can talk.'

'Give me a few minutes, Bobby. OK?'

There was a silence before he replied in a softer voice, 'OK.'

'Bobby?'

'Yeah?'

'If you’re hungry there’s food in the fridge and the larder, and there’s some good scotch whisky on the cabinet in the lounge. Help yourself.'

After a long, surprised silence he said, 'You don’t need to do that, Ma'am.'

'No problem,' she replied more quietly, realising that with no heartbeat and no breath, her digestive system would be at a standstill as well; so eating and drinking would be out of the question even though she could feel the need for a good belt of scotch.

'That's very kind of you.'

He waited outside the door for a few seconds then she heard him move away, tracking him by his footsteps as he investigated the contents of the food cupboards and fridge. The creak of wood told her he’d sat down on one of the kitchen chairs at the table. 

Casting an even more critical eye over her general appearance she turned her back on the mirror and re-dressed herself, mainly because she didn’t want to see any more of her very overweight, stretch marked and cellulite ridden body.

Once dressed again she slowly slid down the bathroom wall to sit on the floor. So, what happened now? Obviously something, or someone, had caused this, but what to do about it? She thought back to the bruises on her chest, and touched them lightly through her clothes. Not that she could remember anything about attempts to resuscitate her. Her last coherent memory was of taking Philip Grainger’s body down to the morgue with Eva Longhurst. 

She sort of remembered speaking to Dave Goddard but the memory was hazy. After that point all her memories were just jumbled images, no coherence at all, until waking up on that gurney in the corridor outside the mortuary. Even that wasn’t particularly sharp and clear, although it had happened only a few hours ago. Driving home and calling into the late store was much clearer. After that point her memories felt normal. Not that subsequent events had been anything like normal.

On the other side of the bathroom door she could hear Bobby’s footsteps pause then move away. Staying locked in the bathroom for the rest of eternity didn’t appeal; besides, running away from problems just wasn’t her style. 

In her mind she couldn’t come to terms with the fact she was dead, her life effectively over. She wanted to cry and sob and rail at fate but the tears wouldn’t come. Her sobs stuck in the back of her throat and really she knew she’d feel like a fraud when she actually felt great, apart from the no heartbeat. She really could not believe she was dead. The phrase did not compute in her brain.

One thing did compute though, she wasn't in the mood for company, especially the company of strangers. And she definitely needed some time on her own to think about all this. Usually, when she needed to do that, she locked the door, unplugged the phone and holed up at home. But home now had other people in there, live ones. And, sort of, at her invitation. From first impressions Bobby, Sam and Dean didn't appear to be men who left a job half done. If she was now merely a rather fresher corpse than the four outside chances were good that they'd want to help her shuffle off this mortal coil sooner rather than later. And she didn't necessarily disagree with them but she did want some time to think, consider and prepare herself. From her job she knew most people didn't get a chance to prepare themselves; she'd certainly seen enough lives cut short in the emergency room. As distinct from those poor souls, for whatever reason, she'd been given some time. 

She could have asked the three men to leave, of course, but she had the feeling she was going to be needing their help and she preferred them to stay where she could find them, ergo, she was the one who needed to leave.

She levered herself to her feet and quietly unlocked the door. Bobby was nowhere to be either heard or seen in the house, which suited Gloria. The kitchen light was still on though. She opened the cupboard under the sink and grabbed her washing up gloves. In lieu of going through the first aid kit and contaminating everything even more than she already had done, looking for nitrile gloves, these would do. 

Remembering the last time she had used the first aid kit in anger, so to speak, she sent up a heartfelt prayer that Dean wouldn’t suffer because she had inadvertently passed a pathogen onto him through the open wound.

She could see Bobby standing outside beside his truck talking on his mobile phone, his back to the house. At least his 'cargo' had remained still and silent in the back of his vehicle.

Moving quickly through to the lounge Gloria took a sheet of paper from the dresser and a pen. The pen kept sliding around as her grip on it through the washing up gloves wasn’t as tight as usual. However she did manage to produce a readable note:-

Bobby,

Dean will need to rest up for a couple of days, give him chance to heal. Feel free to use the house as your own and anything in it. Spare linen is in the blanket box in the big bedroom, fresh towels are stacked in the freestanding cupboard in the bathroom. However, if you prefer to take him home, let me know your phone number, I think I'm going to be needing your specialised help in the near future!

Gloria.

Surveying her handiwork she padded back through to the kitchen, leaving the note on the kitchen table. Grabbing her coat, more from force of habit than needing its warmth, she stole quietly through her home to the back door, letting herself out into the pre-dawn day. 

She knew all the paths around her property and through the forested area on the hillside, and knew which were the quietest and least frequented. She kept to these, pulling her coat collar up in case she had the misfortune to meet anyone. Plodding along the damp paths with her gloved hands plunged deep into her pockets she kept her head down until awareness of the changing quality of the light impinged on her consciousness. It was only then she realised she had walked away from her home in the dark without needing a torch to see. The moon wasn't full so she hadn't had help to see from the satellite but yet she'd had no trouble picking out the path and following it. Something else to think about. 

As the sun rose the light coated the land with a beautiful soft pink glow. Up ahead the trees thinned out as the forested hillside became a bare ridge. With surprise she noted just how far she had walked. Maybe there was something to be said for this not breathing lark. Usually she would have had to stop to catch her breath several times before reaching this point. She sat on a smooth topped rock and drank in the view.

From up here her single storey home and the cemetery behind looked like models, surrounded by tiny trees. She could see a dark vehicle parked in front of her home but she couldn’t see Bobby’s truck.

A thin plume of smoke rose straight up on the still, early morning air from somewhere between her home and the cemetery. She wondered if it was Bobby burning the bodies. 

She stayed watching the finger of smoke as the pink of early sunrise progressed through to orange, highlighting hidden shadows and hollows in the land and adding depth to the autumnal colours until the sun rose properly on a beautiful crisp autumnal day. 

There wasn’t really much to decide on her ‘what to do next’ agenda. She’d passed away doing the job she loved. There were a few regrets but nothing she could do anything about now. She’d miss her friends but really all that remained was asking for help from Bobby and the two boys down there to get to the eternal rest part, or, at least, free her consciousness from her rotting body part. They obviously had experience of this sort of thing, given the way they had dealt with the four dead intruders last night. 

She waved her hand at the buzzing sound by her left ear and carried on thinking. The buzzing continued, moving around to her right ear. She flapped her hand at it again.

Of course all this could be just a very strange dream and she would wake up shortly. As an experiment she pinched herself. Not as sharp as usual but she could feel it. There was something else she could try but for that she’d need a sharp knife. If the results of that test were positive then she’d ask Bobby to help her depart and leave her body where it could be found for a decent cremation afterwards. 

Decision made, she stood up, the buzzing sound getting louder. She looked up. Just above her a swarm of flies were congregating. Blowflies. Quickly reaching down she picked a frond of browning bracken, using it as a fly switch, as she’d done when walking in the countryside with her father when she was a little girl in England. 

'Sorry chaps, dinner will be delayed for a while!' she told the cloud of flies, swiping at them viciously.

Gloria followed another path down the hillside, which cut across a corner of the cemetery then walked to her home. The curtains to her bedroom hadn’t been properly closed so she crept closer and peered into the room. Dean lay on his back tucked up in her bed, his injured arm and shoulder propped up on pillows. The bandages and sling looked stark white against his sun kissed skin. His brother lay beside him, on top of the duvet, curled on his side facing Dean, a protective arm thrown across the other man’s waist. Their heads were inclined towards each other as if they were whispering secrets in their sleep. She smiled at the sight and moved away not wishing to disturb either man. So, the younger two, at least, had decided to accept her offer of hospitality.

In the next bedroom Bobby hadn’t even bothered to pull the curtains. He lay on top of the bed, still fully dressed, including cap, greying curls peaking from the hat and framing his face, hands clasped over his chest, also fast asleep. She glared hard at his boots, still on his feet, on top of the eiderdown. He would be hearing about that when he woke up! At least the two chaps next door had had the forethought to remove their footwear.

Huffing with annoyance, she followed the line of the back of the house, walking the full length of it then struck off on a slight diagonal towards the old ice-house. The door to the underground building was very well fitting and hopefully she could leave her buzzing fan club outside, where they belonged. 

Making it inside the cool room, with only a couple of flies, which she had no compunction about killing, she sat on one of the patio chairs, putting her feet up on another one and prepared to wait, in absolute boredom, for night fall.

By the time Gloria had judged that the flies had retired for the day, full darkness had fallen and she was almost screaming with tedium. Never had a day passed more slowly. If this was the best that she could expect from her unlife she would be pleased to give it up. Now! 

She emerged from the ice-house, immediately seeing light spilling from the kitchen window. As she drew near she could see the front door standing open and voices from inside.

'I tell you, she’s going to cause a riot if she goes back into work like nothing has happened.'

That sounded like Dean, she decided.

'Her car’s still in the garage, so she’s around somewhere.' She definitely recognised Bobby’s voice. 'Besides,' he continued, 'There’s something mighty strange about her.'

'You don’t think she’s a zombie?' Sam asked.

'She’s the walking dead alright but she’s nothing like the ones we’ve encountered before. She answers questions, she talks coherently, she’s still capable of independent thought and action.'

Quietly she slid in through the door and stood in the shadows.

Dean shrugged. 'OK, that’s not normal zombie behaviour but we have seen similar before.'

'She fixed you up until you could get to a hospital,' Bobby went on. 'We've never seen that before, they usually try to maim and kill not cure.'

'Well, she was a nurse, maybe that’s just instinct, training still operating,' Sam suggested as he took ingredients for a meal out of the refrigerator. 'Wonder what this is?' he asked, holding onto her last Bury black pudding and staring at it.

Bobby placed a rack of eggs on the kitchen table just as Gloria stepped out of the shadows. 

Sam reacted quickly to her presence, pulling Bobby behind him and trying to shield his bother and the older man with his own body. Incongruously he was still holding the black pudding, pointing it towards her like a weapon. She reached out to the counter and extracted her sharpest carving knife from the block there.

'Gloria, put that down!' Bobby ordered, trying to get in front of Sam, who was having none of it.

Calmly she rolled down her glove then looked back at the three men.

'It’s alright, the knife is for me, not you.'

'What are you going to do…?' Sam started to ask then stopped as he watched her calmly slice her arm from wrist to just below her elbow. The cut opened, the skin and flesh beneath parting like soft rubber, very slight blood leakage but no blood flow.

The final test; no blood flow, so definitely no heartbeat, and, curiously, very little pain either. Sighing she laid the knife down on the counter surface. 

'Can one of you remember to bleach that before you use it again?' she asked.

The three men were frozen in tableau.

'It’s called a black pudding, Sam. You slice it and fry it up with the bacon, very nice. I have them sent over from England. Can’t say it makes an effective weapon though.'

Sam looked at the pudding in his hand and then quickly laid it on the table, his face reddening. Bobby put his head down, smiling into his beard.

'I'll be on the decking until you’ve finished eating.' She turned to go leaving a stunned silence behind her. She walked outside and sat down, her feet perched on the next step down. 

From inside she heard almost silent food preparation continuing then the security light went on, flooding the decking and the near drive with unnatural brightness. Bobby came to sit beside her, holding items from her first aid kit and wearing a pair of protective gloves. He threaded a curved needle and took her arm.

'It’s not bleeding,' she said, not doing anything to stop him.

'I know,' he replied, starting to stitch the long slice anyway. He worked quietly and efficiently. Once or twice he looked at her face as she watched him stitch.

'Can you feel anything when I’m doing this,' he finally asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

'I can feel the pull of the needle going through and the skin stretching back together.'

'Is it painful?' he asked, stopping.

'Not that bad.' After a short, rather uncomfortable, silence she asked, 'Is there any magic powder that can, umm, restore me?'

Bobby added another stitch and snipped it to close to the knot before shaking his head. He glanced up. 'I'm sorry.'

She gave a short huff. 'Not your fault, you didn't do this to me. Don't suppose you have any idea who did, do you?'

'Yeah,' he replied shortly, snipping off another stitch. 'Not a name but we've seen what he's done before, two states over. He left his little private army to cover his escape, so we had to deal with them first.'

'Private army? You mean people like me?'

He nodded.

'And they obey this creep, why?'

Bobby looked at her properly in the bright light, before explaining, 'They don't have a choice. He raised them, he controls their every action.'

'Are you seriously telling me this bloke, whoever he is, is going to show up and start giving me orders and I'm going to have to carry them out?'

'I'm not too sure about that,' he admitted, stopping his work. 'You're not a bit like any others we've seen. You think and act independently, not sit around and wait for orders. You help and heal, you don't destroy. To be frank, we haven't encountered one like you before. If I hadn't checked for a heartbeat I wouldn't have known you were... umm...'

'Dead?' she supplied, helpfully.

'Well, yeah. Dead.' Then he bent over her arm to set the next stitch.

'What happens to people like me?' she asked softly, watching his callused hands stutter on the next suture. 'Bobby?' she said, into the silence.

'The process of decay doesn't stop, when he's raised folks. It slows a lot but doesn't stop. It's not like Hollywood. The things he raises have no will of their own but, near as we can make out, they can feel. We don't know how much physical sensation but they do have emotions. They get to watch themselves falling apart, literally. Not unsurprisingly, they become insane, eventually uncontrollable. When they're no longer useful to him he incapacitates them and moves on?'

'He kills them again? Like you did?'

Bobby shook his head. 'He literally just incapacitates them, so they can't move around. If their limbs haven't rotted beyond use, he, umm, takes them off.' Bobby glanced up at her.

She knew, could sense, there was more.

'And?' As if that wasn't horrific enough.

'And, what?'

'So, that kills them, then? Allows them release?'

He somehow managed to shrug whilst still stitching her arm.

'Tell me!'

'Not really,' he replied slowly, stung into speech again.

She waited for a moment, hoping against hope that what he seemed to be suggesting wasn't true.

'They know what's happening? They just rot away and feel it and know it as it's happening?' she asked slowly.

Bobby nodded once, quickly. 

The horror of the sentence before her was clear on Gloria's face. She froze, her eyes dilating despite the over bright security light, pleading silently with the man in front of her to not leave her to that horrendous fate. 

She covered her mouth with her other hand whilst silent tears gathered and rolled down her cheeks. She coughed on a sob.

Bobby squeezed the arm he was stitching up. 

She swallowed hard against the lump of dread and fear in her throat, her whole body beginning to shake.

Bobby stopped stitching her arm and held her hand between both of his as he told her forcefully, 'Gloria, we won't leave you like that. I will swear that on my life! We won't.'

Oddly enough she trusted his oath. Trusted him. This strange, rather taciturn man she had only just met.

'How soon can you make another batch of your magic powder?' she asked him after a few minutes, her voice still shaky.

'Couple of weeks, give or take. Depends on where I can source some of the ingredients,' he replied, going back to his rhythm of working, giving her time to recover. 

He finished stitching then wound a bandage around her arm to cover the cut, securing it with a length of sticking plaster. Then he handed her a pair of the same type of gloves he was wearing.

'You don’t think the accessories go with the coat?' she asked, her voice thickened with tears but trying to lighten the mood all the same. 

'Yellow rubber is so last season,' he replied, straight-faced.

Her mouth curved into a grin as she swapped the gloves over then wiped her face.

A shadow fell across them as Sam asked from the doorway, 'Do you want anything, Gloria?'

She started to shake her head then changed her mind.

'There’s a couple of books on my bedside table. Do you mind bringing them to me?'

'Sure,' he replied.

Inside she heard Dean getting to his feet saying, 'I’ll get them.'

Bobby paused in the act of tidying the first aid supplies away.

'I’m bored,' she told him, which elicited another look of surprise from the older man. 'And I definitely need a distraction.'

Dean appeared and handed the books to her along with her glasses case.

'Thank you.'

He smiled warmly down at her. 'You’re welcome,' he replied. At a speaking glance from Bobby he rejoined his brother in the kitchen.

'Can you remember what happened last night?' Bobby asked.

'Not really. Not properly. It’s just a jumble of images and sounds.'

'Talk me through your day,' he said.

She told him about the high number of accidents from the rain, the struggle to find enough beds to cope with the number of patients, the demise of the whole Grainger family. Talking to Nurse Longhurst then taking Philip Grainger’s body down to the mortuary. 'That’s when it gets hazy. I think I spoke to Dave, but I can’t be sure.'

She closed her eyes.

'Dave?'

'Dr Goddard, pathologist,' she replied, without opening her eyes. 'An old friend.' She concentrated, trying to will the memory back. 'Shadows, a shadow. Someone dancing? That doesn’t sound right.' She paused trying to gather the errant half memory. 'I’m sorry, I don’t know if that is me dreaming or not.'

'Don’t worry,' Bobby said, trying to be soothing.

'You’d better go and get your meal before it gets cold.'

He picked up the first aid supplies and got to his feet as she put her glasses on, opened one of her books at the bookmark and tried to read but the print was blurry. She took her glasses off, cleaned them then tried again. Still blurry. Then she realised she could read without her spectacles. She shrugged then carried on. 

She could smell the hot food but it produced no reaction in her. Even though it was food she would normally have enjoyed eating her mouth wasn’t watering and her stomach was quiet. Shaking her head at her clinical cataloguing of reactions she settled down to her book. After a few minutes she found her attention wandering. She thought she could hear something, a sort of rhythmic dragging sound. Listening hard and trying to see beyond the bright, artificial light she also had the feeling she was being watched. After a couple of minutes she put her eyes back to her book, telling herself not to be so silly. She couldn't hear anything any more so it was nothing more than an overactive imagination and a leftover from the night before plus jitters from the horrors Bobby had just described to her. And who could blame her? 

She made a determined start on the next paragraph.

Silly or not, a few seconds later the gentle breeze brought the sound to her ears again and this time with the added ambient perfume of initial putrefaction which not even the lovely smell of dinner from inside the kitchen could over-ride.

She laid her book aside with her reading glasses and stood up, walking forward, away from the light and towards the sound. If the nameless creep who had done this to her was out there at the moment, he was going to feel more than the rough edge of her tongue, and boot!

As quietly as she could she crept forward, walking on the grass so her feet didn't give her away on the path.

Beyond the garage was an area of land Gloria had initially planned to be a vegetable garden but given the fact she seldom had enough time for herself let alone a garden full of plants it was now just rough ground. After that was a path which led down from the hills above, on the other side of rough land was the long drive onto her property from the highway. And it wasn't empty.

Walking forward fast, in righteous angry mode, she quickly realised there was more than one person. 

The pitiful group on the side of the drive almost broke her still, cold heart. Philip Grainger, his wife and son behind him with his brother bringing up the rear, shambled on slowly, the injuries which had taken their lives slowing their progress.

'Mr Grainger, do you remember me? It’s Nurse Clipper, Gloria Clipper.'

She looked for any sign of recognition from the man in front of her. At the sound of her voice he seemed to relax minutely but didn’t speak or lift this head to look directly at her.

'How did you get here? Do you know what happened to us?' Again there was no sign that he understood her. She looked at the family in the faint light. They looked confused and oddly apathetic, as if wondering why they were here. Well, she could relate to that.

'Come on, let’s get you to somewhere we can all sit down.' 

She turned to lead them. It took a little while for them to catch on but then they shuffled after her. Philip limped, very badly, as he dragged himself forwards. Of course, she remembered he’d broken his leg in the crash. That was the dragging sound she'd heard. Looking back towards the house, she realised she'd heard and smelt them from over twenty five yards away! And this was in addition to her sudden ability to see in the dark.

Putting her new found super senses to one side, she turned back to Philip and put his arm across her shoulders. He stopped. She wasn't too sure but a very faint expression may have crossed what was left of his face.

'Lean on me, it’ll help.' Again, it took some time for him to understand but eventually he began to move forwards with her, his badly damaged leg not dragging so much that way.

Slowly, very slowly, they made it to the ice-house. Gloria left her impromptu guests standing whilst she arranged the decking furniture so they could all sit down around the table then she helped Philip to a chair. He sat down with a lot of prompting but the rest of his family simply looked at the chairs.

'Please sit down, there’s room for everyone.'

After trying the polite approach a few times, Gloria gave up and simply took each one by the arm with a guiding arm around their shoulders, placed them with their backs to a chair and leaned on them until their knees bent and they sat.

Once seated Philip’s son kept trying to support his own head, his neck at an angle which suggested a break. It was obviously bothering him, but there was nothing she could do for him at the moment. The bandages covering Philip’s face had been ripped and were filthy; his brother’s chest, clearly concave from the severe injuries which had killed him, showing through his cut and tattered clothing. The name David seemed to ring a bell; Philip Grainger, David Grainger, Ben, Philip’s son and Maria, Philip’s wife.

Looking around she saw they were all dressed in the remnants of their own clothing which had been cut away in parts to allow the medical teams access at the crash site with the exception of Philip who was wearing a set of hospital scrubs.

No-one in the mortuary would have dressed him in such and she knew he'd been stripped for treatment in the emergency room because she remembered cutting some of his clothes off him herself.

So who had put him in his new suit?

'Philip?' 

No reaction.

'Philip? Where did you get your clothes?'

She wasn't really surprised when he didn't launch into a fashion discussion, although a sign he was listening to her might not have gone amiss.

'I’m just going to get some supplies and then I’ll be coming back. OK?'

No reaction at all, from any of the family.

Leaving the light on, Gloria left the ice-house, closing the door behind her quietly.

She could see Bobby on the decking with her books and glasses in his hand.

'Where did you go?' he asked as she got nearer.

'Ice-house. Can you make enough of your magic powder for four more?' she asked without preamble.

'Four more?' he questioned, raising his eyebrows. His tone brought Sam and Dean to the door. 'What’s going on, Gloria?'

'I’ll show you but first of all can you bring me the big box which is on top of the cupboard in the bathroom?'

Sam nodded.

'Scissors, in the kitchen drawer and if you look in the utility room there’s a plastic bag of newspapers for recycling. Can you get me one of the newspapers from there please?'

All three sped to do her bidding then she led her small party of bearers across to the ice-house. Philip's head jerked up when he heard the door open but he didn't turn his head to look at them.

'It’s alright Philip, it’s only me,' she said cheerily. 'I’ve brought some helpers with me.

'Dean, you’d better stay near the door,' she said. 'You still have an open wound,' she went on when she saw the mutinous look on his face. 

Grudgingly he passed the paper to Sam and moved back close to the door. 'Can you put those things down on the table for me? Thank you. This is the Grainger family; Philip, David, Maria and Ben.' She pointed out each member of the family as she introduced them. For a very brief moment something flickered across their faces, not enough to be called an expression. Then they returned to their silent contemplation of the tabletop. 'Bobby, Dean and Sam,' she finished.

'This is the man you…?' Bobby asked.

She nodded. Somehow it seemed to be rather rude to mention the last time she’d seen the family was as they were awaiting processing at the hospital mortuary. In the harsh light from the single bulb all of them looked grey and blotchy, the scent of decomposition adding an unpleasant tinge to the atmosphere.

'One more thing to think about, Philip has managed to get himself a new suit between here and the hospital. I’ll come and see you after I’ve finished here. Then I think it’s cards on the table, chaps,' she said, briskly.

Sam, Dean and Bobby were in no doubt she meant what she said.

 

A couple of hours later, after she had made a collar for Ben, from the folded newspaper covered with a triangular sling, which let him see the world from a more orthodox angle and she had replaced the dressings on Philip’s face from the large box of supplies, she joined the three men currently sitting in her kitchen. Each man sat with a glass in front of them, a small amount of scotch in each. She took one of her kitchen chairs and placed it near the open doorway, sitting down well away from them.

'Right, what’s going on?' she asked. 'And no bullshitting if you please.'

Sam coughed as he inhaled a sip of whisky.

'I heard you talking about me earlier and Bobby more or less told me I’m supposed to be like the Grainger family, aren’t I?'

The silence was answer enough.

Dean said,

'Bobby says you could feel him stitching your arm.'

She nodded.

'Did you feel it when you sliced it open?' he asked.

'Yes.'

'So why did you do it?' he asked.

'I needed to find out, one last test. No blood flow, no heartbeat.' 

The look of pain, quickly masked, which Dean shot at his brother wasn’t lost on her. Oh silent stories abounded around this table. Of that she was sure.

'Why am I different? Philip Grainger didn’t show any signs of pain or discomfort; neither did Ben when I was treating them. They didn't seem to be in any kind of pain, despite their catastrophic injuries when they were walking here. And why here?'

Both the younger men looked at Bobby. Wearily he rubbed a hand over his face and shook his head. 'I don’t know Gloria. I really don’t know. Like I said, we’ve never met a… a… anyone like you before.'

'How did you just happen to be here last night and prepared with your bags of power?'

'We’ve been tracking waves of sightings over three states,' Bobby replied.

'Is this what you all do for a living? Track and destroy zombies.'

'Among other things,' Sam admitted.

'What other things?'

So, they told her, in detail. 

***

At first she was inclined to scoff at their stories of vampires, werewolves and rugaru, she thought they were joking. One look at the faces around the table dismissed that impression.

'So are all vampires beautiful people who hypnotise their victims?' she asked, her words dropping into the cold, stony silence like pebbles in a pond.

Dean snorted. 'Only if you like lots of teeth, ugly as fu, - heck, halitosis and a killer bad attitude.'

'Werewolves? Doesn't anyone notice large and hairy at the full moon?'

'Most of 'em don't know themselves,' Sam replied. 'Once a month they wake up feeling like they've been on a bender, or had the 'flu or something. They don't want to think they're going to get locked up in the psych ward so they keep it quiet.'

When they moved onto ghosts, demonic possession and chupacabra she just sat and stared, open-mouthed.

'But how does this stay out of the media? You can't be the only people who have seen these things?'

'It is out there,' Dean said, smiling at her. 'It's lumped in with UFO sightings, alien abductions and little green men! You're sitting with the lunatic fringe.'

Gloria kept quiet. She'd scoffed at such things so many times in the past. If she couldn't see it, touch it or hear it, it didn't exist, and those who believed were delusional.

'Folks don't tend to question things too close,' Bobby said, conversationally, watching the peat coloured liquid swirling in his glass. 'If I ignore it, it'll go away, or, it's not my problem. That's the attitude of most people.'

'Or take these tablets and keep up with your therapy and the voices will stop telling you to do things,' she said quietly. 'The secrets keep themselves.'

***

By the time they had finished, it was well after midnight and the bottle of scotch had long since emptied. Bobby had insisted she close the door and sit in the kitchen proper when it began to get very chilly. She argued that it wasn’t healthy for them to be sitting in an enclosed space with her until Bobby spoke bluntly.

'I know what putrefaction smells like as well as you do. I can’t smell it on you. We’ll be fine.'

***

For a long time after they had told her what they had hunted over the years she sat chewing a thumbnail and staring into space. Finally she looked up and said, 'Dean needs his next dose of pain meds and then to be back in bed.'

Dean opened his mouth to argue.

'Don’t bother Dean. I’ve been a nurse probably for longer than you’ve been alive. I know when a patient is in pain, even if he’d prefer to cut out his own tongue before he admits it.'

Sam stood up and smiled sweetly down at his older brother.

'You heard the lady.'

The expression on Dean’s face told her he didn’t think that title applied.

Whilst Sam was helping Dean to bed Bobby said, 'You're taking this well.'

'Am I? I’m panicking on the inside.'

He smiled. 'You don't show it.'

'Nurse's training, never let the patient see how much you're rattled.'

'Were you a nurse in England?'

'That's where I trained and qualified,' she replied then smiled. 'Dad was so proud of me.'

'He still alive?'

She shook her head. 'He died couple of years before I emigrated here. Just after he told me not to even contemplate marrying my boyfriend of the time in fact.'

'And did you?'

'Of course. That lasted until I found out he was sleeping with half the street when I was on the nightshift. I divorced him, got my first promotion and then got a job well away from him. God, I haven’t thought about that in years! What about you? You ever been married?'

Bobby nodded slowly. 'It’s how I got into this life. My wife got possessed. Didn’t make it out the other side.’  
She reached out and squeezed his hand in sympathy. The soft sound of the glove breaking the moment rather abruptly.

'Is that why your sons followed you into hunting? Because of what happened to their mother?'

‘Sons?’ Bobby questioned.

‘Sam and Dean.’

‘They’re not mine. They’re the sons of another hunter, good friend of mine. When their folks passed, we just stuck together.’

‘So what are your surnames?’

Bobby stayed silent. 

Gloria raised an eyebrow.

He grinned, 'You know I don't run off at the mouth like this with anybody. Neither does Dean, yet, here we are giving you our life history.'

'It's a talent I've got. Comes in useful when dealing with recalcitrant patients, arrogant doctors and prevaricating relatives.'

'It's Singer. Bobby Singer.'

She smiled.

'Thank you, Mr Singer.'

'You're welcome, Ms Clipper,' he replied responding to her teasing tone. 

'One thing we didn't get to, is where Philip got his new outfit?'

'More than likely his Reanimator,' he said, switching back to a serious tone. 

'Reanimator? You mean the scrote who raised us?' she asked sharply.

'Ummm,' he answered trying to keep the smile off his face at her choice of language.

'So Philip can tell us where he is.'

'We can try to ask him but they don't tend to tell where he, or she, is, even if they wanted to.'

'I'd tell you where he was, if I knew. Or rather I'd tell you where his remains were after I'd finished with him,' she finished sweetly.

'And I believe you,' Bobby said. 'Has Philip actually spoken to you since his demise?'

'No. He did look up when we went into the ice-house, though.' 

'Don't be disappointed if he doesn't talk to you,' he said, trying very hard not to yawn.

She smiled at him as she stood,

'Goodnight Mr Singer, you need to get some rest.'

'You're not feeling tired at all?'

She shook her head.

'You didn't feel lethargic during the day?'

'No. Bored out of my mind, but not lethargic.'

'I'm willing to bet the Graingers won't be up for a family chit chat during the daylight hours.'

'I'll let you know,' she said, preparing to depart with her books and glasses. 'Are the others... the others like me just active at night?'

'Seem to be,' Bobby replied. 'We think that daylight doesn't agree with...them. Why did you go and hole up out of the sunlight?'

'It wasn't the sunlight,' she laughed, 'It was the bloody flies following me around!'

'What?'

'You might not be able to smell death on me, but they sure can.'

'Well, I'll be damned,' Bobby said, looking amazed.

'Goodnight Bobby,'

'Gloria!' He shot out a hand and held her wrist. 'Stay here. It’s your home. And besides your new friends are going to become very fragrant, very quickly.'

'Don’t need to breathe any more, they won’t bother me.'

'Won’t be good for that open wound,' he said, turning her own words back on her and nodding at the neat dressing on her arm.

'Don’t think that’s likely to become infected. But there is an open wound in here which I might infect.'

Gently she disengaged his hand from her arm, patted his shoulder and made her way out of the kitchen. Turning back for a second she said, 

‘By the way, I’d appreciate it if you took your boots off before using the spare bed!’

‘Yes’m.’

 

Settling down in the old ice-house with her books she glanced at the Grainger family and sighed softly. She'd tried, in vain, for several minutes to get any of them to speak to her. They showed little animation, hadn't even looked up when she'd entered the room. Occasionally a hand would move or a foot. If now was supposed to be their most active time, daytime tomorrow should be scintillating, she thought to herself, as she opened up her book.

 

Even though she’d finished her books way before darkness fell, Gloria didn’t venture out of the ice-house until she was sure the fly population would be out of the way.

Early afternoon she’d heard one of the vehicles move off. She thought it sounded like the truck but couldn’t be certain.

As evening drew in she noticed the lassitude, which had settled on the Graingers during the day, wear off. They made small movements and once or twice Philip made eye contact with her. She smiled at him but then his attention would wane and he would return to staring at the table top. It was better than the daytime, but still no where near what you might call normal.

Sighing she collected up her books and her glasses and was about to leave the little room when a knock sounded on the door.

Frowning she opened the door to find Sam raising his hand to knock again.

'Hello.'

'Err Gloria,' Sam paused and glanced at the Graingers, who were still perusing the table.

'Is there something wrong?' she asked.

'Yes. Dean.'

'What’s he complaining of?' she asked, leaving the ice-house and carefully closing the door behind her, motioning Sam to precede her.

'He’s not complaining but he’s got a fever and the chills.'

'Has he been taking his antibiotics?'

'Yeah, three times a day and…'

'And what?'

'When I went to change the dressing on his arm, there’s pus coming out of the wound.'

'What colour?'

'Yellow.'

She nodded as she crossed the decking ahead of Sam.

'Where’s Bobby?'

'Headed out to source some herbs.'

Dean was slumped on the kitchen table, his upper body bare and his arm carefully placed on a pillow. Sweat was running down his face and back.

'Gloria’s here. You gonna let her take a look at your arm?'

'Let the poor woman have some peace!' Dean muttered, raising his head and looking in Sam’s direction. 

Dean’s lips looked grey and his eyes glassy.

Gloria forced her diaphragm to contract and relax, pulling air into her body through her nose. She could smell the taint of infection immediately. She touched Dean’s forehead.

'You’re hot.' As his trademark grin began to form on his face, she finished, 'And not in the good way. Sam, my dear, would you mind getting me the big box of first aid supplies please?'

'Already did,' he replied, pulling the box out from under the table with a flourish.

'How many painkillers have you taken, Dean?' she asked.

'Two.'

'Recently?'

Slowly he shook his head. 'Couple of hours ago. Couldn’t keep them down.'

'OK.' She thought for a minute then moved towards the box. The box was arranged in two layers; the top had sterile packs, bandages and gauze. The tray underneath held ampoules, syringes, boxes of tablets and various other pieces of medical equipment she'd 'sourced' over the years.

'Dean, I’m going to give you an injection which will make you feel pretty woozy, you might even go to sleep. Don’t fight it, OK?'

He nodded weakly.

She ripped off her gloves and donned a fresh pair, then picked up one of the ampoules, a syringe and an alcohol wipe. 'Sam, when I’ve given him the injection, I want you to sit on his good side and hold onto him. I’ll need you to hold him steady.'

Sam nodded.

Swiftly Gloria walked around to his good side and rubbed his upper arm then injected him. Sam followed her, sitting down immediately, leaning forward. As the drug quickly took effect Dean slumped against his brother.

Moving fast she went into the bedroom and grabbed a clean sheet from the linen box. Opening it out she put the inside part of the sheet face up on the table and laid out what she would need; scalpel, cotton wool, hydrogen peroxide. Sitting down she scrutinised the wound.

Parallel red lines were running up Dean’s arm towards his shoulder.

Sam saw where she was looking and said, 'I thought the antibiotics would take care of the infection.'

'They’re supposed to,' she said quietly.

Tracing the lines down they were soon lost in the heavy bruising where the tree branch had been forced through his skin. The black marks of his stitches looked tight and painful in the puffy skin. Gently she touched along the stitch line zeroing in on the thin line of pus oozing from three of the stitches.

'Looks like he’s got a staph infection and its causing stitch abscesses,' she said. 'He really needs to go back to hospital and get different antibiotics. He needs flucloxacillin at the very least.'

Sam ummed and ahhed before admitting, 'We can’t go back to the hospital.'

'Why? What happened?'

'We … used a dodgy credit card to pay for his treatment.'

'I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,' she replied after giving him a long look. 'These abscesses need evacuating.'

'Can’t you do it?' Sam asked, taking a firmer grip on his brother.

'Yes, I can, but the fact remains, he still needs different antibiotics.'

'We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,' Sam said.

'Sam, we’re at the bridge! I don’t think it’s the resistant kind but he really needs a lab test to make sure.'

'Resistant?'

'I’m sure you’ve heard of it, methicillin resistant staphylococcus aureus.'

Sam looked horrified.

'MRSA?'

'I don’t think it is that, there isn’t a case in the hospital.'

'He got this from the hospital?'

'Couldn’t say for certain,' she replied, 'Around thirty percent of the population carry it. He could have caught it from anyone. He could be a carrier himself. An open wound provides a neat entry point into his body, where it causes things like these abscesses. Is he generally in good health?'

'Yes.'

'No diabetes? No chronic health conditions?'

'No, nothing.'

'He should be fine then, once this infection is cleared up.'

Gloria stood up and went into the lounge, returning with a large, unopened bottle of vodka which she placed on the table. Then she went to the cupboard under the sink and pulled out a large plastic bag and a wrapped bar of antibacterial soap as well as a plastic bowl. Putting these down on the table she changed her gloves again and sat down.

Picking up the scalpel she said to Sam, 'You need to hold him. He might flinch.'

Sam nodded.

She took a firm hold on his arm and used the tip of the scalpel to lance the skin over the first abscess. As soon as the blade entered the skin pus poured forth from the tiny wound. She held a wad of cotton wool over the stream keeping the discharge away from the rest of the stitch line and keeping it away from the rest of his skin too. Once the first abscess was drained, she dealt with the other two in the same fashion. There didn’t seem to be any more. 

'Well, I think those were ready to go,' she muttered. Taking a quick look to see if Dean was still out and being reassured, she opened the bottle of vodka and let it dribble down his arm for quite a while until it was three quarters empty, the residue going into the plastic bowl she was holding underneath.

'Why the alcohol and not the hydrogen peroxide?' Sam asked.

'Staph doesn’t like alcohol, whereas it can shrug off hydrogen peroxide.'

'What a waste of vodka,' Dean murmured groggily.

She smiled. 'How’s the pain?'

'OK,' Dean replied.

She was very impressed with Dean’s stoicism as she redressed his arm and put it in a sling. It wouldn’t have been easy not flinching away from her touch, given how sore and painful his arm would be even through the sedative she’d given him.

'You need to go back to bed, Dean. Can you walk?'

'Course I can walk,' he replied, scornfully.

'OK tough guy. Before you go, that was pretty toxic stuff. You’ll be pretty sore for a day or two but you should feel better without it poisoning your system. However, don’t try to be brave about it, if your arm starts to feel that painful again, or you feel bad, let me know.'

Reluctantly Dean nodded.

Sam carefully helped his brother up and guided him through to the bedroom. 

Gloria knew he must be feeling quite ill as he didn’t object to the fussing. She changed her gloves for another fresh pair and followed them holding onto the bar of soap. She put several pillows under his arm and against his back so most of his weight was on his uninjured side by which point Dean’s eyes were closing.

'He’s not going to be that with it for a little while yet. Give me a shout when he wakes up properly. But first, you need to scrub your hands with this.' She handed him the soap.

'Where are you going?' Sam asked.

'I’m going to sterilise that table!' she replied.

***

She’d just about finished scrubbing everything down when Bobby returned with several odd looking plants and packets of dried items.

He looked curiously at her activity then sniffed the hot, bleach laden air.

'What’s happened?' he asked.

'Dean’s got a staph infection. He needs different antibiotics, plenty of painkillers and about ten days bed rest,' she replied, succinctly.

Bobby lifted his head preparing to shout when Gloria cut him off by saying, 'Sam tells me they used a dodgy credit card last time. It’ll be flagged up by now.'

The problem of how to get Dean the treatment he needed had been occupying her mind whilst she’d been scrubbing down the kitchen.

'Fuck! No offence, Ma’am,' Bobby said.

'None taken.'

'I was hoping we could use Dean to get us into the hospital.'

'Why?'

'They have an ingredient we need.'

She raised her eyebrows.

'Dead men’s blood.'

'Does it have to be male?' she asked, looking at her own arm.

'No, but it does need to be liquid.'

'Ahh!'

She knew the stuff lurking in the Grainger's and her own veins would be more the consistency of set jelly by this point. Frowning she applied her mind to the problem whilst Bobby went through to speak to Dean and Sam.

By the time he returned to the kitchen, saying to her in a low voice, 'Dean doesn’t look so good,' she knew how to solve the problem.

'He’ll recover once he gets the right medication. We can go and get what he and you need,' she said.

'You cannot be seen around that hospital,' he stated baldly.

'Not clearly seen, no. But who is going to suspect a visitor, apparently going to see a relative, is a dead member of staff?'

'How do you propose to hide your face? Pretend you’re a convert to Islam?'

She grinned. 'Not a bad idea, but not what I was thinking. I’ve got a cloak with a hood in the wardrobe I haven’t worn for years. It makes me look too much like Margaret Rutherford as Miss Marple.'

At Bobby’s blank expression, she said, 'Never mind. I have the keys to the drugs stores and I know how to get us into the mortuary without being seen.'

'If you’re seen…'

'If I’m spotted I expect you to run like hell and I’ll play dead until I can get away again!' she said. 'Come back here and get the boys… no, even better! You and Sam and Dean can become my relatives.'

'What?' Bobby was totally lost now.

'No reason for you to go anywhere then. You can legitimately ring the hospital asking for your second cousin Gloria, and then get told the sad news that she’s passed away.'

'And why would anyone believe we’re all related?'

'Why wouldn’t they?'

'You talk about Cousin Bobby and the boys a lot?'

'No. But I can write you a letter inviting you all to stay for a while and I can give you the spare key. Anyone around the hospital will recognise my handwriting. You deal with officialdom and keep the scam artists out of the way.'

Bobby leaned both his hands on the back of a kitchen chair thinking her scheme through.

Gloria had busied herself; fetching paper and a pen she sat at the table and began to write. 

'Give me a place where you’ll remember you’re supposed to have come from,' she demanded.

Bobby shrugged and replied, 'Lennox, South Dakota.'

'Take me back to the black hills…' She looked up into his unsmiling countenance and re-applied herself to her task.

'So, musicals not your cup of tea?' she asked as she folded the two sheets of paper then began to rub them between her hands, making it look like the paper had been well handled.

'What do you think?'

She grinned up at him, her eyes and her whole face laughing as she handed him the paper. 'Lighten up. It’ll work.'

Bobby frowned. 'I thought you were really sensible and practical. What happened?'

'A final adventure before the big adventure. Don’t begrudge me a little fun,' she admonished him.

He sighed heavily before asking, 'So when are we planning on having this 'fun'?'

'I’d guess the more people around the better, so we can get lost in the crowd?'

'Not while we’re stealing medicine and extracting blood from corpses.'

'Yeah, got that bit. Most visiting is around seven in the evening, the nurses tend to take a break then as well. The morgue'll be pretty quiet at that time too.'

'OK, we’ll get over there for seven.' He yawned then rubbed his eyes.

'I’ll let you get some shut eye,' she said, suddenly serious again. 

Her eye fell on the two books she’d finished. 

'I’ll just get another couple of books, if you don’t mind.'

'It’s your house, Gloria, we’re just guests,' Bobby reminded her again.

She smiled, a little sadly, as she went through to the bookshelf in her study. She chose a couple of old favourites and then remembered she needed to give Sam some last instructions.

'Sam, don’t…' Sam was fast asleep on the chair, Dean was asleep in the bed. She touched his shoulder and he awoke with a start.

'Sam, don’t share the bed with Dean. You might pick up the infection.'

'OK.'

'The settee in the lounge converts to a bed,' she went on.

'I shouldn’t leave Dean,' Sam said, rubbing his eyes.

The circles under his eyes were pronounced and there was a tension about his large frame which she hadn’t really noticed before.

'Is everything alright Sam?' she asked before she could stop herself.

'Yeah,' he replied a little too quickly. The burning, worried gaze he bent onto Dean told its own story.

'He’s a healthy man, Sam. He’ll recover from this.'

He smiled and nodded rather distractedly.

'Go on,' she said, giving him a little push.

'What?'

'I’ll sit and watch him.'

'But you said before…'

'I know but considering what I’ve been doing to him this evening, I don’t think sitting with him is going to make any odds now.'

Gratefully Sam stood and stretched, his hands nearly touching the ceiling.

'Thanks Gloria,' he said quietly, patting her on the shoulder as he went passed.

She put the chair further away from the bed and angled the small lamp away from Dean and towards herself then began to read her books. 

 

Grey daylight barely managed to edge around the curtains when Dean began to whisper. She raised her head from her book and saw him lick his lips and swallow twice as he pushed the bed covers away.

Quietly she got up and padded to the bed. She didn’t really need to feel his forehead, he was radiating heat, but she did it anyway. His temperature was spiking again. He whispered again in his fever dreams. Briskly she left the bedroom, trying not to wake Sam. She collected some supplies; a thermometer from the first aid box, antiseptic wipes, tea tree and lavender essential oils from the bathroom, a bowl which she filled with tepid water and a clean face cloth. She put these on the night stand then returned to the kitchen for a jug and glass. Searching for a few minutes at the back of a cupboard unearthed some straws as well. Putting a few chunks of ice from the bag in the freezer into the jug she then filled it with cold tap water and took that through to the bedroom as well. She shook down the old-fashioned mercury thermometer and gently placed it under Dean’s arm. He didn’t seem to feel it or know that she was standing over him. Neither of which was a good sign. She shook a few drops of the essential oils into the bowl of water and mixed them around with her gloved finger. She put the face cloth into the bowl whilst she checked the thermometer. The scale read 103.9. She shook her head. Dean needed to be in a hospital not being nursed by a dead woman in a domestic dwelling, she thought to herself as she wiped down the glass tube with the antiseptic wipe. Pursing her lips she pulled her floor standing fan from its niche at the side of her wardrobe, plugged it in and switched it on. A stream of cooling air flowed towards the door. She adjusted the angle of the fan to point towards Dean.

Re-positioning her chair and squeezing out excess water she began to sponge down Dean’s face, neck and upper body. His eyes flickered open at the first touch but there was no recognition in them. He was locked in his own mind whispering disjointed sentences.

With an ease born of long practise Gloria settled into her task, listening to her patient rambling. Not all of it was coherent. Some of it though did make a nightmarish kind of sense, given the job they did. 

 

Gloria changed the water twice before anyone else awoke.

'How's he doing, Gloria?' Sam asked from the doorway.

She was startled. For a large man Sam could move very quietly.

She smiled at him saying, 'His temperature is coming down a little.'

There was a minute lessening of tension, visible in the way his shoulders slumped a little.

At the sound of his brother’s voice Dean opened his eyes, his gaze tracking to the door.

'Sam?'

'Yes, it’s me,' he said, coming to sit on the bed.

Dean swallowed a couple of times. Gloria filled the glass, added a straw and handed it to Sam to give to Dean who drank thirstily, draining most of the liquid.

'Try to drink as much as you can,' she said, calmly handing the cloth over to Sam whilst she put the thermometer under Dean’s arm again.

'Thought that was supposed to go into my mouth,' Dean croaked.

'You’d be amazed at the number of orifices you can put a thermometer can go.' A remark which raised a grin from both members of her audience.

Gratefully Dean turned his head towards the cool breeze from the fan and the cool cloth his brother was wielding.

'Are you hungry?' Gloria asked.

Dean shook his head slightly and wrinkled his nose.

'How’s the pain?'

'Still there,' Dean replied.

'As bad as it was?'

He shook his head.

'Do you think you could keep some tablets down? They’ll help with the pain.'

He nodded, his eyes drifting shut again.

She took the thermometer out and read it. 101.2. Sam looked at her expectantly.

'It’s coming down. Keep on with the sponging,' she said as she got up to find some painkillers from her own supply.

In the late afternoon, whilst Bobby made something to eat for himself and Sam, Gloria got changed. She put on her uniform under her street clothes, deciding that if she needed the distraction of a uniform then it would be best to have it readily available.

Then, at Bobby’s insistence, they went over the plan. Morgue would be first, followed by getting the drugs.

Gloria told them about an old corridor which went from the boiler room through into the mortuary. It was seldom, if ever, used now and probably the only people who knew about it were Dr Goddard and herself. Security in the pharmacy depended on locked doors and heat sensors. She had a key to the door and the heat sensors wouldn’t register her at all.

She added the final touch, her grey cloak. It was long, falling around her ankles. Pulling the hood up hid her face in its shadows. No-one could possibly recognise her. Bobby watched her step out of the house and across to his truck. He thought the cloak with the hood up made her look less Margaret Rutherford and more E.T.

Almost as if they had shared a thought Sam said, under his breath, 'Phone home!'

He realised he hadn’t spoken as softly as he thought when her voice floated back to him.

'Cheeky bugger!'

Bobby grinned, shrugged and strode forward, taking care to wipe the smile off his face before he got anywhere near his truck.

 

'Pull in over there,' Gloria said, pointing to a darkened spot at the furthest end of the car park from the security booth.

She looked through the rain spattered windshield with satisfaction at the crowded car park. Lots of visitors meant more chance of getting lost in the crowd.

'That the boiler room?' Bobby asked, nodding towards a stone building set slightly apart from the main, modern looking, hospital buildings.

'Yep. Down two levels and then along a corridor and into the morgue.'

They exited the truck, heads down against the rain. Glancing up Gloria caught sight of a uniform at the reception desk in the main building.

'Damn!'

'What?'

'Police or security on the main desk.'

'They seen us?' Bobby asked.

'Don’t think so,' she replied.

Bobby quickened his pace considerably, Gloria easily keeping up with him. As they drew near the boiler room door she swore again when she caught sight of the shiny new lock.

'We’re not meant to do this!'

'Keep watch!' Bobby ordered tersely, not put out by this development.

Within a couple of minutes Bobby had picked the lock and pulled Gloria in.

'You seem to need lots of diverse skills to hunt supernatural things,' she remarked as he pulled the door to behind them.

'You should see Sam, fastest fingers in the West.'

Smiling at the mental picture she followed Bobby’s flashlight as it bobbed down the metal stairs and along the old concrete corridor. 

There was a shiny new lock on the door at the other end as well which Bobby took care of with his customary skill. Before he could open the door, Gloria tapped him on the shoulder and motioned him to keep silent with the universal signal of a finger on her lips. A couple of minutes later she said,

'OK, he's gone now.'

Bobby’s eyes narrowed.

'Who's he?' he asked quietly.

'There was a man in the corridor, new shoes, they squeaked when he walked, and his clothes smelt of dry cleaning,' she replied softly.

'When did you learn to do that?' he whispered as they exited the door, pulling it to behind them.

'Sort of since I died,' she said as quietly, leading them past the technician’s offices and Dave Goddard’s office into the morgue itself.

She busied herself by checking the names and ages of the drawer’s occupants.

Bobby watched with a morbid fascination before asking, 'You looking for someone in particular?' Sarcasm bleeding through every syllable.

'You do your job, I’ll do mine.'

'Gloria, any of ‘em’ll do!'

'We find a youngish male, with good veins, it’ll take less time to get the blood we need.'

As she spoke she opened the drawer door and pulled back the sheet, casting a professional eye over the body of a reasonably well-conditioned twenty-six year old man. His chest was caved in, his left arm almost torn from his body and he had severe facial injuries. Any or all of which were probably the cause of death.

She pulled the sliding drawer fully out then crossed the room to a cupboard. Withdrawing a very large syringe, she fitted a sharp and picked up a screw top glass jar.

'Will you have enough with this much?' she asked, holding up the jar.

'Should do.'

Instead of going for the corpse’s arm she headed south to the juncture of his thigh to his trunk, felt for the right area and plunged the needle in. 

Bobby grimaced in sympathy with the unknown man as she withdrew the plunger, filling the barrel full of dark blood. She squirted the blood into the jar and went back in for more.

'Femoral artery,' she said quietly, filling the jar again. 'Takes less time from here than from an arm.'

Bobby stowed the sealed jar in Gloria’s bag as Gloria made the body tidy again and disposed of the syringe and sharp. As she covered his ravaged face she whispered,

'Thank you,' to the corpse.

Quietly they left the morgue, this time exiting via the corridor into the main hospital. The far end of the corridor was still in half darkness, the bulb not having been replaced. 

Instead of the nice clear corridor a picture of dancing shadows overlay the image making Gloria gasp and stop.

'What? What is it?'

Gloria shook her head.

'I thought I saw something,' she said.

'There’s no-one there. Come on!'

He walked on impatiently, wanting to be done with this and on the way back to the house.

She followed then stopped again, a memory trying to surface. Darkness; shadows moving, reaching for her, reaching for her…

'Come on!' Bobby said urgently, disrupting the moment, grabbing her arm and pulling her along behind him. 'Rule one, when you’re somewhere you’re not meant to be - hurry up and do what you need to!'

She shook her head. He was right. If either of them got caught it would take some mighty fast talking to get them out of trouble.

She trailed him up the stairs. Once in the main hospital they swapped to use the lifts up to the fifth floor. The main hospital pharmacy was located here, and the second part of their mission. 

The lift doors opened at every floor filling with more visitors. Gloria and Bobby pressed together at the back of the car, heads down. Getting out at the fifth floor, along with four others, they followed the visitors then struck off following the green line on the floor. 

Bobby was surprised when Gloria suddenly said loudly and with a really bad Southern accent,

'Honey, I don’t think this is the way to geriatric medicine.'

Bobby was a beat late in saying, 'Yes, it is.'

'Sorry Sir, this isn’t the way to geriatrics. You need to follow the blue line.' The extremely polite voice from the darkened doorway of the pharmacy stated. Then the very large security guard stepped forward into the light.

'The blue line?' Gloria laughed. 'Oh, I’m sorry.'

'No problem, Ma’am. If you go back towards the lifts, go past and geriatric medicine is through the double doors on your left.'

'Why thank you, young man,' she replied, turning and pulling Bobby after her.

When they were a safe enough distance away she whispered, 'I’ve never seen as much security around here.'

'They lost five bodies, there’s going to be security. You know any other ways into the drugs store.'

'No. One way in and one way only, but keep walking, I’ve got an idea.'

'Yeah, me too, quit with the accent!' he whispered. 'Before we get caught.'

She loftily ignored him whilst unobtrusively leading him towards the geriatric wards. Slowing her pace she deliberately began to force air in and out of her lungs through her nose. Bobby didn’t interrupt her as she led them towards a four bed bay the furthest away from the nurse’s station. 

All four patients were elderly women. Three were in their beds and apparently asleep whilst the fourth was sitting at the side of her bed staring aimlessly out of the window. She didn’t react when they entered the bay. None of them had any visitors. 

Unerringly Gloria went towards the woman in the right hand bed just inside the door. Her mouth and cheeks were sunken and an oxygen mask was fastened around the lower part of her face. Gloria put her bag on the floor and gently reached out to touch the older woman’s face, brushing her white hair from her forehead then continuing to stroke through her hair whilst she perched on the old woman's bed.

'The wall box at the bed head contains her meds. Open it and take anything labelled vancomycin or flucloxacillin,' she ordered softly, as she continued to stroke the woman’s hair.

Quickly Bobby obeyed, picking the lock with alacrity. He extracted three cartons of tablets, vancomycin, and dropped them into Gloria’s bag, covering them with the scarf which lay in there for the purpose. They stayed for a few minutes longer then left.

'Do you know her?' Bobby asked, falling into his role of supportive partner without really thinking about it.

Gloria shook her head inside her hood. 'Poor woman is moribund, she should be in a ward by herself or at least have the screens around her bed.'

'Moribund? If you mean dying, say so.'

'She's dying. Most of her organs have already shut down.'

'You nurses can tell that just by looking?' Bobby asked, fascinated.

'Not usually I couldn't. I'd know she was seriously ill, ready for end of life care, but before I wouldn't have been able to tell what organs had stopped working.'

Her eyes, wide with wonder and questions, flicked to Bobby's from under her hood.

'No use asking me,' he answered softly, catching the unspoken question. 'I already told you, we've never met one like you before!' He paused as they passed a knot of people loitering and chatting together. 

'How did you know what meds she was on?' he asked, once safely passed the little crowd.

'I could smell the infection,' she admitted. She looked up at Bobby’s astounded face and added, 'What I wouldn’t have given for senses like these when I was nursing!'

Bobby smothered a laugh as they stepped into the lift car. 

They didn’t even attract a second glance as they walked passed the security men around main reception and out into the car park. 

Gloria’s instinct was to run for the truck but Bobby’s ‘guiding’ hand around her shoulders stayed her pace. He settled her in the passenger side of the truck and then got in himself. With a decorous speed they left the car park, turning onto the main highway towards her house.

After a few minutes riding down the rain splashed the road Gloria asked, 'Are we being followed?'

'Nope,' Bobby replied, checking his mirrors then he flinched, startled, as her whoops of excitement filled the cab.

'Oh God! That was intense! What a rush!' she yelled.

Bobby’s teeth showed white through his beard.

'I didn't think we were going to manage this at first but you came good,' he said admiringly. 'I wouldn’t have known where to start looking for specific antibiotics apart from the pharmacy.'

'That’s my job, or was. But I can’t believe the things I can do now. I could tell there was a guard on the pharmacy door before he even moved. I could smell the infection on that poor woman. I can sense the living and the living dead. I can still see detail even in the dark. It’s amazing! I think I’m turning into Wonder Woman.'

Bobby threw his head back and laughed out loud. 

'And no comments about a supersized costume either,' she said, joining in the laughter.

Bobby shook his head, still laughing. Somehow he found the thought of Gloria’s generous proportions in a basque oddly erotic, which worried him. 

Worrying not because he was getting the hots for a larger sized lady, but because, for a few moments, he’d forgotten she’d been dead for the best part of three days. 

He definitely drew the line at necrophilia. 

 

Sam was waiting for them on the porch.

'You got the stuff?'

'You have to ask?' Gloria replied, grinning and striding into her home. 

She unpacked her bag, pushing the bottle of blood over to Bobby whilst she opened up the boxes of antibiotics.

'How’s he doing?' she asked Sam.

'Think his temperature has spiked again.'

She nodded whilst separating the tablets into small piles.

'OK, let’s get him on a loading dose. I’ll sit with him, make sure there are no ill effects. I know I keep asking this Sam, but has he ever had an adverse reaction to antibiotics?'

'No.'

'Alright.' She picked up the tablets and went past Sam into the bedroom. Even before she reached his bedside she could see Dean was hurting and racked with fever.

He opened glassy eyes when she entered and attempted his trademark grin.

'You got it?'

She held her hand containing the tablets so he could see them.

He smiled then closed his eyes.

'I need you to take these,' she said gently sitting beside him, proffering the water from the nightstand and the tablets.

'All of them?'

She didn’t even dignify the question with a reply. 

Meekly he swallowed the pills and lay down again. Sam had ghosted up to the other side of the bed. 

'I’ll sit with him, you get some rest,' he said softly.

She narrowed her eyes. She knew it hadn’t escaped Sam’s notice that she no longer needed to sleep or rest. But, then again, he hadn’t taken his eyes off his brother’s face. The tension in his body was still evident, but it was when he glanced at her and she saw the bone deep pain in his eyes that she knew Sam was afraid, and that fear was for Dean, not himself. It wasn't the usual fear for a much loved relative either, it was deeper than that.

'You call me if either of you need anything, OK?' she said, acquiescing to Sam’s silent demand to be alone with his brother.

He nodded and returned to gazing at Dean.

Slowly and thoughtfully she pulled the door to behind her, made her way into the kitchen and sat down at the table opposite Bobby.

'I know it's none of my business but are those two a bit closer than just brothers?' she asked abruptly.

Bobby looked up from assembling the ingredients for his zombie killer powder.

'Why do you ask that?'

'Sam is worried sick about Dean, not usual worried sick about a relative either.'

'You sniff that out too?'

'My eyes still work.'

'Don’t know that I can rightly tell you about that. That’s Dean and Sam’s business.'

'And yours too.'

He glanced at her then looked away. 'They're grown men. What they do in their down time, nothing to do with me.'

She continued to sit and think, coming to her own conclusions.

'OK, I’m a busybody but if I can do anything to help, you let me know. You're going to a lot of trouble to help me.'

At his continued silence and avoidance of looking at her, she stood up saying, 'I’ll go and check on my other guests.'

'Thanks Gloria.' Bobby hadn’t lifted his head or stopped what he was doing.

She smiled at him then turned to leave but stopped on the threshold. A shiver ran up her spine. She knew, without the shadow of a doubt, there was someone out there, someone she really didn’t want on her property.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the Grainer family making their unsteady way across the drive, down the side of the garage. Without knowing how she knew they were being drawn towards this entity, just as she could feel a slight 'pull' in her own breast. The feeling was there but it wasn't as imperative as it seemed to be to the Graingers.

Then the stranger walked into the light from the security beams mounted on her garage.

'Son of a bitch!' she exclaimed.

Bobby looked up at her expletive and at her rapidly departing back.

'Gloria! Gloria, what is it?'

'Him, that’s him!' she replied.

'Who?'

'He was in the morgue the night I died,' she shouted back. Her memory had returned, full force, as soon as she’d laid eyes on the dark man. 'I was trying to stop him desecrating their bodies.'

The man in the dark robes was obviously pleased to see the Graingers, less pleased to see her.

'You should not be here!' he shouted at her, his accent harsh to her ears.

'And you should not be here,' she replied, putting herself between him and Philip Grainger.

Philip's one remaining eye swivelled between Gloria and the dark man, his expression an amalgam of confusion, horror and fear.

Ignoring Gloria, the dark man crooned, 'Come to me! Come to me my children.' 

'Bobby! Sam!' Gloria shouted.

She felt rather than heard the two men coming up behind her.

'You leave them alone,' she growled at the dark man. 'Haven't you done enough to them?'

The man ignored her and beckoned past her to Philip.

Gloria risked a glance behind her. Sam and Bobby, standing shoulder to shoulder, between the Grainger family and herself, making an effective barrier against the dark man. The machete Sam held matched the blade in Bobby's hands.

'You guys got any of your magic powder left?'

Bobby shook his head. 'Needs to cook in the sun for a few days and we need a few more ingredients.'

'You know of any other way to get rid of this bastard?'

'No, but a beheading usually slows them down for a while,' Sam replied moving purposely forward.

The man cast a contemptuous glance at Sam and reached into the bag on his belt. Gloria remembered the move from the night she died.

'Sam, get out of the way!' she shouted. 

Sam ducked, sliding on the grass, the powder being flung at his head missing him. Then the man was once more intent on the Graingers. 

A strange feeling enveloped Gloria. She could still feel the pulling sensation from the dark man but it was being countered, countered by something in her. 

Concentrating on that strange counter-feeling and putting all her will-power into it, she turned to Philip and said slowly and clearly, 'Go back to the ice-house, Philip.'

Philip stopped his strange shuffling walk forward and looked at her, then laboriously turned his body around to return the way he had come.

Gloria turned to the dark man whose temper was rising as he saw Philip turn away from him.

'No! No, you are mine, you belong to me!' he screamed at the top of this voice to Philip. 'Come to me! You will come to me!'

Gloria casually took the machete from Sam's hands and swung it hard towards the dark man’s neck. 

Contemptuously he ducked and dodged out of her way.

'You cannot harm me, mouri fanm!'

'And you cannot have these people,' she replied, anger flooding through her.

'They are mine! Mine to do with as I please!'

'No, they're not,' she screamed, going for him again with machete. 

This time he wasn't quite quick enough to get out of her way, the blade opening a slash across his left forearm and cutting the bag of powder so it spewed its contents over the grass.

He screamed, his other hand holding his skin, his face transforming into a mask of sheer hatred and anger.

'Take them,' he snarled. 'You will never have more mouri sòlda!' With that he turned and faster than Gloria could believe, ran back along the drive, disappearing into the darkness.

She watched, making sure he wasn't going to stop and wait for them to leave so he could return and hassle the Grainger family again. When she was sure she turned back to Bobby and Sam.

Sam was still lying on the ground, an expression of shock on his face. Bobby mirroring the same emotion.

'What?' she asked, holding out her hand to help Sam up. He scrabbled backwards away from her, the whites of his eyes showing around the dark green iris. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the tip of the long blade in Bobby's hand come up. Without conscious thought she took a breath in, the sour stink making her wrinkle her nose and take a step backwards. Fear. Unmistakable and it was coming from Bobby and Sam. With a sinking feeling she realised they were frightened of her.

'I was only going to help you up,' she said quietly to Sam who was getting to his feet unaided.

Bobby licked his lips and lowered the weapon.

Stung and desperately unhappy Gloria laid the machete down on the ground without another word and went to Philip. She took his arm across her shoulders again and in total silence led him back towards the ice-house.

As they walked tears rolled uncontrollably down Gloria's face. She couldn't believe the way the two men had reacted to her. Lumping her in with the horrible little man who had raised them all. What was it Bobby had called him? Reanimator? Putting her in the same category as the Reanimator. It hurt, a lot.

Wrapped firmly in her own misery she didn't notice, at first, when the family began to crowd in around her, seemingly wanting to be closer to her. Philip's arm across her shoulder tightened, pulling her closer to his side. Suddenly David was on the other side of her. He was making soft, guttural sounds, almost growling as he walked with her. She stopped and turned; coming face to face with Maria, her son Ben beside her. Maria's eyes were tracking her, her face tight and alert, her son the same. Gently Philip turned her back around, his arm going across her shoulders once more, his brother adding his arm from the other side as they continued their walk.

She was literally in the middle of them, being taken where they wanted to go; destination appeared to be the ice-house which was fine. But the way the family had changed in such a short time was somewhat scary. She sniffed, tension stiffening her shoulders. With the Bobby and Sam’s new reaction to her she guessed she was on her own sorting this one out now.

 

Philip was indeed leading them all back to the ice-house. Once there and with the door shut the family took to milling about between Gloria and the door all of them agitated. She wasn't sure if they were protecting her or holding her prisoner. 

She watched them for a long time through her tears from her vantage point seated at the table. She hadn't bothered to switch on the light, she could see them perfectly well and, as none of the others walked into each other or the furniture, she assumed they could too.

She thought it must be getting towards dawn when a faint noise filtered through the thick walls, Philip and David immediately taking point and standing in front of the door. David had initially gone quiet but now began to make the strange grunting, growling noise again. The noise outside stopped but neither Philip nor David moved away from the door.

Fear that the Reanimator had returned for them all dried Gloria's tears very effectively. She was also wishing that she hadn't given the machete back to Sam. Looking around she made a grab for a hoe. Not the best weapon going but better than nothing. When she turned back to face the door, for the first time she regretted her fantastic new eye sight; everyone of the family wore the same look. Teeth bared, shoulders hunched, hands stiffened and arms half-raised. They looked terrifying! Taking a deep and totally unnecessary breath, she nearly gagged on the stench. Bobby hadn't been kidding about the fragrance. Exerting all her will-power to stay calm she strode forward. David grunted at her, his hand closing on her shoulder heavily.

'No!' she said sharply to him. 

Immediately his head and his hand dropped and he took a pace back. Philip, Marie and Ben were looking at her expectantly. She licked her lips, thinking furiously. Philip dragged himself half a step forward.

'No, Philip. Go and sit down at the table. David, help him,' she ordered crisply.

The two men eyed each other. David grunted and came towards her, his hand, palm up. She leaned the hoe against the wall and took his hand.

'Go and sit down, all of you,' she said, more kindly this time, trying to ignore the cold sweat and squashy feeling of his hand as the flesh shifted with decomposition.

Philip slowly turned away, his brother helping him, as she'd asked, their arms going around each other's shoulders as they tottered towards the table. Gloria made a mental note to herself to get a splint on that leg; his foot was showing distinct signs of wear as it dragged on the ground. 

In seconds the emotional atmosphere inside the ice-house had lifted, the spiky tensions of fear and unhappiness smoothed down. Keeping a lid on her own feelings of anger and fear she picked up the hoe. Listening behind the door she knew someone was outside, she could hear regular breathing and occasional scuffing as whoever it was moved minutely. 

In the heat of her encounter with the Reanimator, she'd forgotten to take note of whether or not he breathed. The odd pulling connection she'd felt was absent though. So, unless he could turn that off and on at will, it wasn't him outside. Quietly she pulled the door open, stepped through and pulled it closed behind her.

A torch snapped on to her right, the light momentarily blinding her. She raised the hoe in front of her defensively before her conscious brain took over and she lowered the gardening implement.

'I'm sorry!' Bobby's gruff voice said from behind the light.

For few seconds Gloria didn't know what to do or say until the absolutely misery of knowing she had frightened the wits out of the man in front of her when she didn't really understand why came crashing over her. She felt her lips wobble and her chest involuntarily contract forcing a smothered sob out as tears rained unchecked down her face.

'Don't cry! Oh god, please don't cry!'

Despite her current misery the tones of absolute distress in Bobby's voice as he beheld the truly terrible sight of a woman crying in front of him almost made her laugh.

'You hunt all sorts of dreadful things and the one thing which scares you is a woman in tears?' she sniffed.

'That terrifies all men,' came his heartfelt reply, his tone implying she had somehow failed to comprehend a basic universal truth.

'Why did you react like that?' she asked, almost wailing the question.

Bobby stopped and looked at her curiously as if the answer was obvious.

'Why?' she asked again.

'You took the machete off Sam,' he said, paying close attention to her face.

'So? You've seen me with a knife in my hand before.'

'No. You took the machete off Sam.'

'He let go. Didn't he?'

Bobby shook his head.

'He was hanging on for dear life. It didn't seem to matter. Sam's a very strong and fit young man and he couldn't hold on against you. And you didn't even notice he was trying. Then the Graingers changed their allegiance from the creature who raised them to you.

'Suddenly you were whirling that blade around the Reanimator like a pro, both of you moving so fast we could barely keep you in focus. He gave in and ran off then you turned around and damned near flew towards Sam with murder on your face and a bloody big knife in your hand. Now ask again, why we were terrified.'

'I was angry, with that man, not you or Sam. I didn't want him near any of us. I wouldn't have hurt you, either of you.'

Bobby didn't reply, just let her think about his words.

Gloria stood still, absolutely stunned. That wasn't how she remembered it playing out. She thought Sam had relinquished his hold on the blade and she didn't think the dark man and her had been moving inordinately quickly at all.

Slowly the changes over the last few days filtered into her mind; her improved sense of smell, her eyesight, the way she could move and walk fast without much effort, her ability to sense when someone was around even if she couldn't see them, the change in Philip and David. They had changed in line with her own emotional response. They had become angry and hurt because that was the way she had been feeling. She took a step back away from Bobby, feeling behind her for the wall of the ice house. Horror at her conclusions written all over her face.

'Oh god! I'm turning into something like him, aren't I?' she whispered. 

'Let's not jump to that big a conclusion, but you are changing.'

Bobby's attempt at defusing her grief didn't register as she sagged against the wall, both hands over her face.

She'd never felt pure emotional pain like this before. Generally the physical effects distracted her first, like nausea, palpitations and breathlessness. Without any of the physical problems the emotions overcame her; choking her, burying her in layers of fear and misery.

She was determined she would not turn into a female version of the Reanimator. Absolutely determined. 

Gloria was so overcome she hadn't noticed Bobby drawing near until she felt his arms come around her in a silent all encompassing hug. For someone who was scared of a crying woman he was doing well with holding a sobbing Gloria.

When her tears were nearly stopped and the tension in her shoulders relaxed a little he held her face between his roughened palms and looked down into her eyes. Slowly she covered his hands with her gloved ones, and brought them away from her skin, folding his together in a prayer-like attitude, her own on each side.

He broke her gaze and nodded once. 'Come on, let's get you back to the house,' he said, as he took her hand to lead her away from the ice-house.

Brilliant, she thought to herself on the way back. The time when I actually meet a chap I think I could get along with is the night I died! Someone, somewhere had a damned strange sense of humour.

Sam was standing in the doorway looking out for them. He jumped down the steps from the decking and strode over.

'I'm sorry Gloria,' he said sincerely. 'That was inexcusable. I know better.'

'I'm sorry too,' she said quietly. Bobby's hand moved to her shoulder as together they made their silent way back into her home. 

Before they reached the decking Dean's voice could be heard,

'Sam! Sam! What happened to the coffee? Where are you?'

'His master's voice,' Bobby said softly.

Shooting him a venomous look, Sam lengthened his stride shouting as he did say. 'Do it yourself!'

 

Bobby stood up and reached for the jar of blood and the bag of other ingredients. 'I’ll finish up with this.'

'Have you got everything you need?' she asked.

'Just two more things; graveyard earth and Artemisia absinthium.'

'One is easy to find around here, what's the other? Absinthe, as in the drink?'

'It's used as the flavouring for absinthe,' Bobby replied.

'Also known as wormwood,' Dean added.

Bobby nodded then added, 'Why don’t you two get some rest, me and Gloria’ll finish this? That’s if you want to?'

'Fine by me,' Gloria replied, she was actually interested in the process of making this powder. 

She wasn't blind to the paradox either; once it was done and used properly it would kill her but she had enjoyed spending the last week with Bobby whilst 'acquiring' the ingredients the most adventuresome of which had been the dead man's blood.

Bobby missed the worried look Dean flashed at Sam, but Gloria didn’t.

Dean turned back to find Gloria’s eyes fixed on him. He licked his lips uncomfortably whilst returning her look.

'Umm, before you go Gloria, do you mind taking a look?' he gestured with his injured arm.

Sam immediately sat up. 'What's up with it?'

'It's OK, just thought I'd get it checked by a professional.' When Bobby had turned back to loading his bag, Dean opened his eyes wide at Sam and nodded to Bobby.

Silent message received and understood Sam stood up and said to Bobby, 'I'll give you a hand. Where you thinking of going? Back to Isobel’s?'

'Thought I'd take a look at Sidney's,' Bobby replied, jabbing his finger at a map spread on the table. 'Isobel's is a bit of a trek from here.'

Their voices faded as Dean led the way back into what used to be Gloria's bedroom.

As soon as the door was shut Gloria turned and said baldly, 'What?'

'I'm worried.'

Gloria had already discretely scented the air; the infection was under control and he was taking his pain meds regularly so his healing wound wasn't the source of concern.

'About?'

'Well, Bobby.'

'Bobby's fine,' she replied, confused.

'At the moment, he is. You're either out together or you're sat together talking, when he doesn't have to take a break to sleep.'

'I can't do this on my own, I don't know how to. You're not well enough yet and Sam is spending all his time nursing you.'

'No, you don't understand Gloria, I've never seen him as happy or as miserable as he is now. What happens when he has to use the powder on you? Then he's just going to have the misery. What happens then? We won't know what to do for him!'

'You'll go back to what passes for a normal life again.'

'He umm he likes you Gloria. He really does like you.'

'I have actually managed to work that one out on my own. I like him too. He's the first fella I've 'liked' like that in a very long time. Not exactly Romeo and Juliet though, is it? I die and then we get a week together where we can't touch, I can't be seen outside by anyone other than you three and then he gets to kill me off for good? Yes, I'm bitter and pissed off and angry and I'm so sorry Dean but I can't help you. I don't know what to do either!'

Embarrassingly Gloria could feel the tears springing to her eyes again. She was never this emotional, or hadn't been this emotional in years. 

Clumsily Dean put his good arm around her, pulling her in for a one armed hug.

'You shouldn't be doing this!' she said, sniffing, her voice wobbly.

'Dean!' Bobby's deeper voice cut through from the doorway. 'What have you done?' he asked, pulling Gloria into his own arms.

'He's not done anything Bobby,' Gloria hiccoughed. 'Or anything I haven't been saying to myself.'

'Go outside and join your brother,' Bobby ordered sternly.

Ducking his head Dean left the room.

Bobby just held her tightly as she soaked the front of his shirt. 

When she'd begun to calm down a little, Bobby said softly, 'We don't have to, you know.'

Gloria went still. Somehow it was a shock to hear someone else say what she'd tried to avoid thinking in the dark, still hours when Bobby was sleeping and she was on her own.

And oh, how she wanted to go along with what he was suggesting. She was quivering with the need and desire to do so. She couldn't remember a time when she had wanted anything more. 

Then the memory of his voice telling her what would happen to her came back and sounded, very loudly, in her mind. The horror and fear nearly overcame her.

Carefully she hugged him as tight as she dared, mindful of how easy it could be to accidentally injure Bobby severely. She still didn't know the limits of her own strength. Taking a deep breath and letting him go she said as quietly, 'Yeah, we do.'

She dredged up a smile as she looked up into his kind and worried face.

'All this, it's not right. You know it and I know it.'

'You could work with us. The things you can do now, you can help us.'

'Help you catch and kill monsters like me?'

'No. Not... that's not you.'

'It is Bobby,' she said sadly, not wanting it to be true. 'If Sam hadn't let go of that machete I would have broken his arm and not even noticed. If we don't do this and I join your family business, one day I'll forget how strong I am again and give you a hug which breaks your spine and ribs and either leaves you severely disabled or kills you. Or I squeeze Dean on the shoulder and end up breaking every bone or push Sam as joke and fling him across the room. What then?'

Bobby couldn't answer, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. She wasn't bringing up impossible scenarios, these were very real probabilities.

'Come on, let's go get that absinthe,' she said after a few minutes of thick emotional silence.

***

Gloria hadn't even enquired where they were going to get the wormwood, she just got into the truck as Bobby started the engine and pulled away down the drive. 

She could see Dean and Sam standing together on the porch through the wing mirror as they picked up speed. Her view was cut off as the truck turned onto the highway. Going in the opposite direction from the hospital Bobby drove in silence whilst Gloria directed her attention to the passing view.

Three hours later at the extreme range of her vision she could see a small roadside diner coming up.

'You haven't eaten today,' she remarked.

'Not hungry,' Bobby replied.

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. She could see, and smell, the dried remains of saline on his weathered cheeks and on his beard.

Facing forward she asked, 'Are we there yet?'

An unwilling grin spread across his face as he turned to glance at her.

'Coupla more hours,' he finally replied, his right hand dropping to the seat between them.

She reached over and took it, the first shock of his normal skin temperature feeling very hot through her thin nitrile glove before her own skin began to heat from his shared warmth.

A few minutes later she stiffened as a slight but unmistakable feeling alerted her.

'Glo? What's up?'

'He's somewhere around here,' she said, turning in her seat as they passed a turning point in the road, leading to a small town some miles away from the highway. She didn't need to explain to Bobby who 'he' was.

Bobby nodded but kept his attention on the road.

It would be interesting to find out over what distance that feeling operated, if she had more time, that is. As the feeling passed she relaxed again. The atmosphere in the truck remained melancholic despite her earlier attempt to make Bobby laugh. It seemed right though somehow. On previous trips they'd never stopped talking, discussing every subject under the sun; politics, the supernatural, state of the world, travel, a never ending dialogue until now.

 

Bobby picked up the prepared wormwood from the herbalists without incident. Even staying in the truck she could hear their conversation quite clearly. Bobby was known to the proprietor, Sidney. Sidney asked about Dean and Sam whilst Bobby, in turn, enquired about Sidney's grand-daughter who was away at university.

One the way back, the Reanimator was in a slightly different position, even further away from the highway, he seemed to be heading North. She didn't bother telling Bobby.

It was well after dark by the time they returned to the house. 

Dean and Sam were in the kitchen drinking coffee, her large ceramic baking bowl on the kitchen table beside them, three-quarters full of dried leaves, sticky liquid and black earth, which reeked of decay, to Gloria. Graveyard earth then.

'Any problems,' Sam asked.

Bobby shook his head.

'How far along is it?' he asked looking at the bowl.

'Ready for the final ingredient and the incantation.'

Bobby nodded, picked up the bowl heading back outside, Dean following, Sam picking up a cloth bag from the floor before trailing behind. Curiously Gloria followed them.

Bobby had placed the bowl on the ground, a little distance from the house and well away from both vehicles. Sam was pulling items out of the bag which Dean was setting up in line either side of the bowl; two candlesticks with stubs of candles in them. A straight bladed knife with symbols carved into the hilt and a container of clear liquid. Sam lit the candles then knelt with Bobby and Dean.

All three knew exactly what they were doing, no doubt about that.

Bobby added a handful of crumbled dried wormwood leaves then passed the knife across his hand. Immediately Gloria smelt fresh blood. Then Bobby used his blood to paint symbols on the outside of the bowl as the three male voices began to speak the same words in unison. 

She didn't understand a word of what they were saying. 

When Bobby had finished his sanguine finger-painting, all three stood and moved back, still speaking. After the last word Sam struck a match and flung it into the bowl. A column of flame shot skywards from the bowl until Dean unscrewed the top of the container of clear liquid and poured it carefully into the bowl from the lip. The flame turned blue then died in a shower of green sparks leaving glowing chunks of a grey brown crumbly substance in the bottom of the bowl. 

Methodically the younger men began collecting up the paraphernalia as Bobby stamped back to her.

'Is it ready?'

'Not quite, needs to cook in the sun for a day first.'

Tomorrow evening then. This was her last twenty-four hours on Earth.

She was silent. One more day then that was it, her life and her few days of unlife were over. She raised her eyes to find Bobby looking at her.

'Good,' she said firmly.

'No regrets?'

She thought for a few seconds before saying, 'Just one. I wish I’d met you when I was still alive.' She smiled at him. 'Let's take a look at that hand.'

She sat him at the kitchen table then fetched the first aid box, noting as she did so the slightly bleachy scent emanating from her bedroom. So, the boys had been getting the death mix together but still found time to affirm life as well. Fucked-up but fitting somehow. She didn't mention what she knew to Bobby.

Gloria bandaged Bobby's hand then he returned the favour and wrapped a fresh bandage around her arm. The edges of the cut she had made were dark lines now, no sign of knitting together at all and, slight though it was, she could smell that the tissues were beginning to break down a little. So, despite her enhanced vision, hearing and strength, if she was injured she didn't heal, any injuries also hastened eventual decomposition at the site of the injury so logic suggested that the Reanimator would be the same due to her slashing his arm with the machete. And he didn't have anyone to sew his flesh back together again. Seeing as they'd stopped him taking the Graingers as his slaves, he would have to do his own dirty work too.

'So that's why he does it,' she said softly, part of the puzzle slotting into place.

'Sorry?' Bobby asked.

'That's why he raises others. He's trying to avoid injuries so he uses those he raises to keep himself whole. We don't heal.'

Bobby looked at the cut on her arm before covering it comfortably with the bandage.

'But you already knew that bit, didn't you?' she said, correctly interpreting his expression.

'Knew you wouldn't heal but assumed he was raising an army not trying to protect himself from injury.'

'He may be raising an army, that bit I don't know, but part of it is because he's trying to keep his skin whole. Wonder how he worked that bit out?' she mused to herself.

'He's been around for a lot longer than you,' Bobby replied, dryly, pulling her sleeve down over the bandage.

She smiled then stood up.

'Where are you going?' he asked.

'For a walk.'

'Want some company?' he asked.

'Thanks for the offer Bobby, but you need to get some rest. You haven’t slept in a long time.'

His eyes asked her a silent question.

'I will come back, I promise.'

He dropped his gaze to the tabletop. 'You know I wouldn't blame you if you didn't,' he said softly.

'I'd blame me,' she said, just as quietly. Then in a louder voice, 'Oh, can you get something for me?'

'Sure,' he said.

'Top shelf, right at the back,' she said, nodding at the tall kitchen cupboard behind him.

He looked to the top shelf then dragged a chair over to stand on.

'How the hell did you get something up here?' he asked, feeling around then extracting two full bottles. His eyebrows rose as he examined the labels. 'This is really good stuff Glo.'

'I know. Enjoy it, but don't let Dean have too much, it'll interfere with his antibiotics.'

She smiled up at the bemused man then walked out into the cool air using her enhanced speed to get out of sight before he could get down off the chair.

She walked through the forest and up to the ridge as she had that first morning, once again marvelling at how freeing it felt not to have to breathe, or be breathless through dragging her bulk up the path. That was one thing she would change if she had her time over again, she wouldn’t let the weight pile on. Too much good living and not enough exercise. No way did she regret the meals out with good friends and the good wine and whisky consumed on those occasions but, it should have been balanced by good long walks in the countryside or swims in the local pool. 

She hadn’t been kidding either when she’d told Bobby she wished she’d met him sooner. He was interesting. He had a lot of knowledge, not just on the supernatural, had some odd skills as well. He was well read and could converse, with ease, on an amazing variety of subjects. 

She sat on the same rock, easily seeing her tiny home through the darkness, thinking as the night wore on. 

 

Just as dawn was breaking she stole back into the house. Bobby was face down, asleep, or maybe passed out, on the kitchen table, and, despite her admonishments, Dean and Sam were sharing her bed. She wrinkled her nose at the ripening smell in there. The sheets definitely needed changing.

Almost silently she extracted a spare set of scrubs from her wardrobe, left her coat on the hook and took one more long, honest look at the noisily sleeping Bobby.

She was glad she would be properly dead this evening, then she wouldn't have to miss this man who had become so important to her so quickly. Unfortunately, he wasn't going to have it as easy, for that she was sorry. 

Her gaze shifted to the empty bottle held loosely in his grip, she winced at the hangover he would be suffering when he woke. 

She crept into her study, finding and extracting the paperwork she needed plus blank writing paper, envelopes, pens and her copy of 'The Hobbit'. Mr Baggins could keep her company today, not Bobby and his pseudo sons.

This way was better, sitting around together waiting for nightfall would be hell on her nerves, let alone Bobby's.

She left a scribbled note which said simply:-

We'll be waiting, corner of the graveyard nearest the ice house, at nightfall, bring the powder.

Love Glo.

Without looking back she quietly left. Instead of going to the ice house, she crossed to the garage. Letting herself in, she went passed her car to the back then climbed the old staircase at the end. This led to a low ceilinged room, which was full of junk, but would do as a bolt hole for the day. She cleared a space for herself on the floor, after hanging her scrubs up on the back of a broken chair and set to work.

Around ten she heard Bobby calling her name then heard his footsteps going in the direction of the ice-house. Someone else was heading to the garage. By the way he was walking it sounded like Sam. He spent a few minutes looking around the perimeter of the garage. Perhaps he thought she was intending to spend the day in her car? She heard him quietly climbing the rickety wooden stair case and sure enough his head popped up through the trap door. When his torch beam caught her, before he could shout out, she put her fingers to her lips and shook her head.

He regarded her thoughtfully then sighed.

'Bobby's gonna kill me when he finds out about this,' he said very softly.

'I won't tell if you don't,' she replied, equally quietly.

He nodded and left, pulling the trap door shut behind him.

She leisurely finished her letters then curled up with her book, losing herself in the adventures of a young Hobbit as he encountered Dwarves, Elves, Orcs and a Dragon called Smaug. 

 

At the end of the short autumn day, Gloria changed into her scrubs, collected all the papers together she'd prepared that morning and let herself out of the airless little room. Quietly she led the Graingers out of the ice-house, leaving the door ajar to air the place out. Together they waited, silent and still, in the oldest part of the graveyard listening to the three sets of footsteps getting nearer.

'Where were you?' Bobby asked angrily, as soon as his torch picked her out of the little group. 'We've been looking for you for hours!'

She shook her head at him before handing over the envelopes one by one.

'What are these?' he snapped.

'Deeds to the house, ownership papers for the car and letters to my bank.'

'What?' he said, looking at the white oblongs.

She shrugged.

'You can either keep the house and use it as a base, or you can sell it and use the money. I don’t have any relatives who are going to object and the letters I have written will do for any officials who question your decision.'

'No...Gloria...It's, that's not necessary,' Bobby stammered

'Yes, it is. I don’t want my hard earned cash going to the government; I’d rather you got some use out of it. I’m not going to need it.'

Bobby put his head down to the bag in his hand, unable to meet her eyes. Dean was gazing at Bobby, whilst Sam was the only one who flicked his eyes to hers.

She said quietly and formally, 'Thank you for helping us. If they could, I'm sure they would thank you too.'

Philip Grainger solemnly regarded them all from his one functional eye. Despite his increasing fragrance Gloria smiled up at him and put his arm across her shoulder. The rest of the family fell quite naturally into the formation; David on Philip's other side, Marie and Ben close behind Gloria. 

She took one last look around at the world. Yes, this was right, this was how it should have stayed. 

Dean looked sick; Sam was so pale he practically glowed and Bobby continued to refuse to look at her.

She smiled at them then she closed her eyes and waited.

After a long pause, she heard Dean shakily began the incantation and smelt the powder as it covered them all.

The powder felt cool and silky smooth where it touched her skin and it smelled wonderfully fresh, like green leaves after a spring rain shower. It held a promise of new growth, better things to come and new adventures on the horizon. She almost laughed out loud in elation. 

Behind her she felt first Ben then Marie drop to the ground then to her right David Grainger slump forward as if he were embracing a longed for lover closely followed by his brother, Philip. In a matter of seconds, and with no fuss, the Graingers were gone.

She could feel that they were gone, she didn't need to see them. Whatever had been there which let her sense them as not quite living, had quickly and joyously departed.

Flicking open her eyes, she looked around. There was something odd here. Very odd. The sense of happiness had evaporated and the night breeze felt chilly and damp. She brushed the powder from her hair and face. The scent of it had changed, it now smelt old and dusty.

She looked around again. No, she was still standing and her spirit was feeling no sudden urge to depart her rotting envelope. 

The three shocked faces staring back at her clued her in that this wasn't usual.

'Well, that was unexpected!' she said distinctly, anger and frustrated irritation lacing her tone as she arrived at an unmistakable conclusion. 

'How are you feeling?' Bobby asked carefully.

'Pissed off!' she replied in faux polite tone. 'What the hell happened?'

Bobby opened and closed his mouth a couple of times then shook his head.

'It doesn't work on me! It didn't fucking work!' she shouted, all the melancholic preparation, hurt and fear burning away into incandescent anger. 'What the fuck's going on?' she finished, glaring at all three men.

'I have no idea,' Dean stammered then looked at Bobby.

'First things first, we need to deal with these good folks, then we'll hit the books and websites and figure this out. Dean, you make a start, Gloria, go with him.'

'I've got a better idea,' Gloria replied, picking up the shovel they'd brought with them. 'All three of you make a start, I'll deal with the digging, salting and burning. It'll be quicker this way.'

She was holding on to her temper by a thread. The coolly logical part of her mind knew it was no good screaming and swearing at them, they were just as shocked and confused as she. She was hoping the effort of digging a grave for four rather ripe bodies would help work off some of her bile.

'Move!' she growled, as Bobby showed a disposition to linger.

'Glo, I know you're...annoyed, but let us do the digging, you might injure yourself. We heal, you don't.'

'If you do your jobs right, it won't matter for long, will it?' she replied, in saccharin tones, totally at odds with the glare she was giving them.

Dean tugged at Bobby’s arm as he opened his mouth to argue with her.

'I'll bring up the salt and gas,' Sam murmured quietly to her, handing her his own torch. 

'I don't need that.' she reminded him tartly. 

She turned and got started with the shovel then stopped. 'Sam?' He turned. 'Bring my bible with you please.' She remembered seeing 'Christian' noted under Philip's religious affiliation.

Sam nodded and lengthened his stride to catch up with his family.

 

Before she began to dig Gloria looked around. A little further to the left, under the shade of the trees was actually quite a decent spot for a grave. She took a good hold of the shovel and began.

By the time Sam padded back softly and left the cans of salt, gas and her bible at the edge of the treeline she was down to five feet and ready to put the Graingers in for their final rest.

'Can I give you a hand?' Sam asked quietly.

She nodded then hid a smile as he produced a pair of latex gloves from his back pocket. She got the feeling he usually didn't bother with gloves for this bit.

Together they lifted each body and, as carefully as possible, rolled it into the trench she had dug. Then Gloria went in and arranged them decently.

Once she was back out, Sam walked around the edge of the trench throwing salt and gas but before he could strike the matches in his other hand, Gloria held up her hand.

'Not yet, Sam.' 

She rustled through the thin pages of the book in her hand, eventually taking off her glove so she could find the page quicker. 

Sam bowed his head, his hands grasping each other in front of him, not exactly prayerful but showing an attitude of respect. 

'I didn't know any of you properly, so I don't know what your favourite readings or poems would be, or if you'd even thought of what you'd like, but this is one that I like.' 

She looked down at the book in her hand and, with only the ambient light from the stars, read out loud,  
'To everything there is a season,  
and a time to every purpose under heaven.  
A time to be born and a time to die;  
a time to plant and a time to pluck up that which is planted;  
A time to kill and a time to heal;  
a time to break down and a time to build up.  
A time to weep and a time to laugh;  
a time to mourn and a time to Samce.  
A time to get and a time to lose;  
a time to keep and a time to cast away.  
A time to rend and a time to sew;  
a time to keep silence, and a time to speak.  
A time to love and a time to hate;  
a time of war, and a time of peace.'  
She paused for a second before adding, 'I hope you all found your peace.'  
Sam lifted his head and struck the matches letting them fall into the family grave. He drew Gloria well back from the heat as the gas blazed up so it wouldn't harm her.  
They stood together in silence watching until the flames died down then went out. Sam picked up the shovel but Gloria very gently took it from him.

'If you really want to help me, Sam, find out why your magic powder doesn't work on me.'

When she lifted her head from filling in the grave, it was to find that Sam had departed as quietly as he'd arrived.

The hive of activity in the kitchen quietened slightly as she walked through without saying a word, collected some clean clothes from her closet and took a long shower. Pulling the brush through her hair she was steeling herself, there was humble pie to be eaten and she was in line for a large portion.

As she sat down at the table with the three men the volume reduced again.

'Sorry I shouted and swore at you, chaps. You're doing your best and I really do appreciate you continuing to help me.'

Bobby reached over and grasped her hand, apparently the gesture was from all of them because the boys smiled at her and continued talking across the table again, Bobby joining in.

Gloria let the noise wash over her until her brain told her there was something wrong with this picture. Puzzled she looked around the table; four laptops and a couple of tablets were there and being used but there was no printed matter in evidence.

'I thought you said you were going to hit the books?' she interrupted.

Bobby's lips curled up in a half smile as he swung his screen to show her a scan of a handwritten page, magnified enough to show detail of the parchment page underneath the brown ink.

'The books are heavy, there are a lot of them and sometimes we need to refer to them in a hurry when we're not near our base,' he explained. 'So we scanned them and the computer whiz kids here arranged it so all we need now is a computer and an internet connection to get to them. Now, we need to know about any news stories or forum threads or blogs about any strange happenings with other bodies going missing, grave desecrations, those thought to be dead seen walking around. Any mention of Backhouse powder, sing out immediately,' he told her, pushing one of the laptops to her and returning to his own computer screen.

'That the proper name for your magic powder?'

He nodded. 'Said to be first used by William Backhouse who got the formula from the writings of Hermes Trismegistus. Pity he didn't tell the rest of us where to find Trismegistus' text.'

Instead of interrupting by asking more questions Gloria used the computer to look up to the two names she'd just heard.

'Alchemists?' she said aloud.

'Blogs and forums,' Bobby reminded her sharply. 'You can research the ancients later.'

With the advent of the following nightfall, and the many times a little box of pills had made its rounds of the living around the table, Dean appeared to Gloria to be getting a little punch drunk when he started laughing then said, 'Hey guys, I think I've found something, listen to this!' Then he haltingly read out a narrative, the words in Olde English, paraphrasing where he could,

'One of 'The Accursed Ones', a man formerly of sober character and good standing in the community... yadda yadda, basically ran riot in a plague village after being raised himself by, a...I think it's Prince of Hell.'

Gloria raised her eyebrows.

'Not really a Prince of Hell,' Dean assured her. 

'How exactly did he run riot?' Sam asked, trying to see the scanned page on the laptop screen.

Dean almost giggled, 'When they'd finished burying that day's plague victims he went and brought them all back again. A Holy man or Hermit told the villagers how to lay their dead to rest again but every time they did so this man resurrected them. From Sabbath to Sabbath, no man could stay at rest in his grave.' Then his face lost its mirth. 'The Hermit disappears then comes back after a couple of days with the knowledge of how to rid themselves of this menace. He tells the villagers how to 'purify' the bodies with salt and fire so they cannot be raised again. Then he himself goes to do battle with The Accursed One. The one who was originally the good man is despatched swiftly, then his body is purified like the others.

'The Prince of Hell gets a different spell and is...is...'

Bobby looked at the text Dean was trying to decipher.

'The Prince of Hell is forever taken from the sight of God and the reach of His divine mercy.' 

There was a silence around the table before Sam asked, 'Is that saying there are two different types of Reanimators and each gets a different spell to put them down?'

'Certainly looks that way,' Bobby replied, thoughtfully. 'Or is it that there is no difference in the Reanimators, just a difference in how they're dispatched?' 

Sam sighed deeply before saying, 'We need to keep on looking.' He reached out for the little box of pills on the table.

'Not before you three get some sleep,' Gloria stated firmly, quickly appropriating the box. 'You've been awake for three days now. And I, for one, would rather you were a bit more with it before you start with spells that might obliterate me for all eternity.'

'We can keep going,' Dean assured her, holding his hand out for the box.

'A couple more days isn't going to cause a problem,' Gloria replied, ignoring the implicit request.

'She's right, Bobby said. 'We need to get a few hours shut-eye and then get back to it. We don't want to make a mess of this.'

'Amen to that,' Gloria muttered.

As Sam got up from his chair, he ruffled Gloria's hair, a friendly smile on his tired face. Dean simply smiled and followed his brother. Bobby was last, getting stiffly to his feet.

'You've set,' Gloria said, grinning.

'Come again?'

'Set, set in one position. Northern England expression.'

'Very apt,' Bobby replied, stretching his arms above his head and working the kinks out of his back and neck. 'Night Glo,'

'Morning Bobby,' she smirked, knowing what time it was.

'Smartarse!' he whispered in her ear, as he bent down to give her a one armed hug. 'Another English expression, I believe.'

She laughed as he made his way to her guest bedroom.

 

As the night wore on Gloria continued to copy and paste links which showed some promise onto a document, as Sam had showed her. 

No document they had found over the past few days even hinted at there being different types of creatures such as herself, let alone what it was which made them different. 

Gloria stopped reading the text on the screen in front of her face and began thinking instead.

There were only, apparently, two creatures like her, the other being the one who had raised her, and who, according to Bobby, had been around for a long time. Absently she rubbed her hand over the bandage, it was starting to itch a little.

She knew she could find him, the Reanimator. That wasn't a problem. When she did track him down, she couldn't think of a reason why he might help her.

She moved her arm intending to go back to her list of websites when the end of the bandage on her arm gracefully began to unfold onto the keyboard.

'Sod it!' she swore quietly to herself, getting up to go and fetch her first aid supplies.

She took off the bandage and had a good look at the cut and Bobby's neat line of sutures. The dark line hadn't reduced any, the slight smell of meat going bad hadn't gotten any worse though, and she needed to have her nose on top of the cut to even smell that. She sprinkled a few drops of lavender oil onto her skin before replacing the bandage, which was a little tricky doing it one handed but not impossible. 

Then it hit her, like a bolt from the blue; yes, she did have something the Reanimator would want, a specialist skill. She could stitch up the lacerations she'd made on him with the machete. If he hadn't been as careful keeping away from the flies as she had been, then that cut would be a maggot factory by now.

Waking Bobby and telling him crossed her mind, briefly, but, given how protective he'd become the chances of getting anywhere near the Reanimator with her self-appointed guard in tow would be remote to say the least. 

Swiftly and silently she put together what she would need and put it all into a cloth bag. Then she penned a brief note before stealing out of the house and across to the garage to her car. 

Just as she was about to start the car she glanced down at the fuel gauge, less than half full then she swore to herself. She couldn't go to her usual gas station, her car would be recognised and news of her demise would have spread way beyond the hospital by now. Going to another gas station where she wasn't known shouldn't be a problem. Or would it be a better idea to 'borrow' Bobby's truck or the boys’ car? No-one would even imagine it was her in either vehicle.

Then she had another thought, using any of the vehicles may not be problematic but drawing out the money from her account to pay for gas would be. The hospital administrators were nothing if not efficient, her bank would have been informed and her accounts frozen. 

'Shit!' she swore quietly to herself.

Then she remembered her emergency stash. She'd been left without funds once before when the ATM had eaten her card and refused to give her any funds. Dave and Esther had kept her going for the week it had taken a new card to come through that time but afterwards she had drawn out a couple of hundred dollars and hidden it in her house, wrapped in plastic at the back of the freezer to be exact. If it took longer than that amount of petrol to find him, then she'd have to think of something else.

Carefully she crept back into the house and into the utility room, propping open the freezer lid. The packet of notes was right at the bottom. Luckily, now the extreme cold in there didn't make her fingers numb. A quick check showed only one hundred and sixty dollars left. She remembered the forty bucks she'd taken out and never replaced one morning when she'd been in a hurry to get to work.

Ok, then, that was the deciding factor. Her own car was more fuel efficient than the engine in Dean and Sam's car and infinitely more so than Bobby's truck.

Within ten minutes she was out on the open road, headlights slicing though the darkness. Not that she needed the artificial help but she thought it would be helpful in keeping any stray traffic cops off her tail.

 

The next three days were a study in complete boredom interspersed with brief seconds of excitement as she honed in on the Reanimater's position before losing him again. Three times she found him, felt the 'pull' and followed it then abruptly lost the strange signal. The fourth time, she pulled her car into the side of the road, picked up her bag with her gear in it and set off walking.

Afternoon was sliding into evening before she knew he was very close by. She'd walked across several harvested fields in a direct line from the road. Ahead, brush gave way to trees clothing the lower part of the range of hills. Off to her right a wooden, dilapidated outbuilding crouched in the corner of an oddly shaped field, one of its wide doors ajar. In the dim interior she could make out loose straw on the floor and rusting farm machinery. 

The 'pull' was strong, very strong.

'Hallo!' she called out, her voice higher than usual.

There was a beat of... surprise? then the 'pulling' sensation altered, becoming a pleading, a promise of comfort and home and peace. Almost a crooning song in her mind. She stifled a snigger. He didn't know who she was! He was calling to her as he'd called to the Graingers, trying to pull her in with silken pledges of security.

Slowly, as if unsure, she sidled to the door and slid inside, standing against the wall nearest the exit.

'My poor lost child,' he whispered softly and kindly from across the barn. 'Come to me.' He beckoned to her with his right arm, his left hidden behind his back.

Gloria took in a small breath; old grass, straw, rust, diesel, machine oil, long dried sap of cut stalks and small animal blood, dust, pollen and over it all the redolent stench of rotting meat.

She could feel him exerting more of his will, trying to reel her in like a fish on a hook.

'Don't be afraid. I can help you,' he whispered, a small smile gracing his face.

Hesitantly she smiled back. Immediately his teeth shone yellow through the dimness and the pull changed to compulsion. She took several more steps towards him, keeping the late afternoon brightness at her back.

'You're confused, you need direction,' he crooned, 'I can help you,' he repeated.

'Actually,' she replied, covering the final few feet as quickly as possible and grabbing his left arm, 'I'm offering to help you in exchange for information.'

The compulsion stopped dead.

'You!' he shouted, his face twisting into a scowl of hatred. He tried to pull his arm back but she held on then he began screaming, what she assumed was abuse, at her at the top of his voice, all the time pulling and writhing to get out of her grip. 

'Quiet!' she bellowed, 'Or I'll pull it out of your shoulder socket!'

He stopped, a murderous look on his face.

'What do you want?' he growled.

'I just told you. I'll stitch up your arm, in return for some information.' 

She glanced down at his arm. He'd covered the cuts on his arm and across his body with a grey, buttoned up shirt, no doubt stolen.

'I don't need your help!' he snarled.

She quickly pushed the sleeve of the shirt up his left arm revealing a very rough line of thick, uneven sutures. The skin around them oozing, areas of heat along the cut betraying where decomposition was progressing. In a couple of places she could see slight movement under the greyish skin, more than likely where insect larvae were feeding. She stepped back and unrolled a short section of the bandage on her own arm showing him the neat, clean, cool line.

'Course you don't.' She gave a soft laugh, winked and said, 'Please yourself.' 

Rolling down the bandage and then putting her bag back over her shoulder she turned and walked back towards the door.

She was several dozen steps away from the barn when she heard, 'Mouri fanm!'

She stopped but didn't turn around.

'Wait.'

Slowly she turned to face him. Indecision and outright mistrust warred on his face.

'Why would you want to help me now? You tried to kill me.'

'You were trying to enslave patients of mine at the time,' she reminded him, calmly.

'They were sòlda, my sòlda, but you took them from me.'

'They were patients of mine. I cared for them when they were injured and dying and they didn't ask for what you did to them.'

'They are yours now, your little army. You are now doktè of the dead?' he laughed, sourly. 

'No, nurse. I'm a nurse. Are we going to do this, or not?' she asked sharply, disliking his casually offensive attitude.

'Now you are angry.'

She refused to say anything further, simply staring at him.

'What do you want to know?'

'I want to know why we're different?' she said.

'And if I don't know, you will leave me?'

'I'll still help you, but I think you do know. In fact, I'm sure of it.'

Abruptly he sobered then, surprisingly formally, he nodded.

'I will do this.'

She nodded, hitched her bag further onto her shoulder and headed back to the barn.

'Right, I want three straw bales out here,' she said briskly, trotting back inside the barn. 'What are you waiting for?' she asked, returning with the first bale.

'I cannot,' he finally admitted, uncomfortably. 'When you cut my arm, I could not use it, even after I stitched the skin together.'

'You stitched just the skin?'

He nodded.

'Alright, stay there.'

It didn't take long for Gloria to set up her outdoor suture room to her own specifications, then she indicated that the Reanimator should lie down on the two bales she'd pushed together whilst she took a seat beside him then she had him take his shirt off whilst she got prepped. As he briefly turned his back she saw old marks on his skin, marks she'd only ever seen in history books. Then he lay on his back, his dark eyes reflecting the stars.

She stopped and looked at him.

'What's your name?'

'Why do you want to know that?' he replied, his tone sharp, his glare cutting.

'My name's Gloria, what should I call you?'

He eyed her suspiciously for some seconds before saying,

'Jean.'

'OK then, Jean. First, I'm going to cut these stitches, then clean out the wound and then re-stitch. Alright?'

He nodded.

She quickly cut the rough stitching and opened the cut, unsurprised when the wound tract revealed several hot spots of squirming maggots and even a few pupae. She irrigated it with hydrogen peroxide, picked out the remaining foreign bodies with tweezers then began to debrade the tissue to get a clean working area. The machete had gone deep enough to mark, but not break, his ulna.

Carefully she began to pull together the different levels of tissue; muscle, fascia and skin.

Jean's whole face shone when she re-connected the muscle and he could once again move his fingers and arm. Once that part was done, she felt him relax a little, so she asked him, 'Does your back need attention?'

His dark eyes swivelled towards her.

'No.'

'Who flogged you?' she asked, keeping her eyes on her work.

'My master flogged me!' he drawled. 'He say I was running away but I was looking for herbs and roots for my mother. Her mother taught her the old ways, as her mother taught her. The old mother was a priestess before the white men came and took her and many from the village, took our land and forced them to work it for them.'

'You were a slave?'

He nodded. 'Until we rose up and took back the land.'

Gloria stopped working. 'I don't remember any successful slave revolt here.'

'It was not here. The land I come from is hot and fertile and many, many miles away.'

'What happened? Did you die in the fighting and your mother raised you again?'

'Not my mother, another priest. I was to be sòlda but my body still had life when the priest walked among us, raising us for one more battle. I raised as Chief, not sòlda.'

Gloria paused briefly as the puzzle pieces fell into place.

'You weren't quite dead, so you come back different to those who are dead and raised?'

'We are Chief, we rule sòlda.'

'You enslave them.'

'No. Not esklav, sòlda.'

'I'm not seeing the difference,' she replied, remembering Philip's frightened face.

'Esklav, slaves, they must stay with their master, they return to death if their master leaves them for even one day. Sòlda can feel what their chief feels, can fight for their chief and can leave their chief for another.'

'Philip chose me?'

Jean nodded.

'Why did he come back as a sòlda not a slave?'

Jean hesitated before replying, 'I have never raised a slave, only soldiers.'

'But what makes the difference?' she persisted.

For answer he dipped his right hand into his new cloth bag at his belt. Glo got up and ran to the barn door as soon as she saw the movement. He laughed cruelly.

'This cannot make you a slave now. You are as you are.'

'It's the ingredients in the powder which decide?'

'The powder and the words, they decide.'

'And usually you make sure that they're really dead before raising them, to make sure they stay loyal to you only?' she asked, cautiously resuming her place on her straw bale.

'You were an accident. I didn't know you were going to die just then.'

'It was just absolutely shit timing.' She closed her eyes for a few seconds. When she opened them again Jean was looking at her with a narrowed stare. She didn't trust him, not in the slightest, but she did want to get any useful information he possessed. 

'Do you know how to let me die, properly?'

His whole expression softened and the looked away, then he replied softly, 'My mother was killed before she gave me that secret or I would have released myself. Time hangs... heavily for ones like us.'

'You're lonely,' she stated, realising at the same moment why he raised others.

'We have no place with the living or the dead.' 

Gloria put her head down and continued to stitch, praying that the information she now had would be the answer which would enable Bobby and the boys to release her.

Despite Jean's sudden appearance of vulnerability, appealing to her compassionate nature she knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt that he was playing her somehow. Strangely though, she did think he was telling her the truth. 

Her careful stitching of all the layers in his arm and the shallow gash across his abdomen took several hours. The sky was lightening into another dawn by the time she finished.

'Would you really have finished yourself, if you could?' she asked, helping him back into his shirt.

He turned, tucking his shirt in. 

'Do you have children?'

She shook her head.

'I watched all of my children die. My grandchildren were growing old when I left the island. I didn't want to watch them die too.'

Gloria concentrated on putting her needles, thread and bandages away in her bag, and wiping away her tears when Jean picked up a bale and easily carried it back into the barn. She stood for him to take the next one back.

Instinct made her duck just before the wind of a blade whistled over the top of her head.

'What the hell...?'

'There cannot be two of us,' Jean stated coming for her again.

'You know you can't kill me with that,' Gloria shouted, getting out of his way again. 'I'll still know what's happening.'

'And for that I am sorry, but I cannot allow another like me.'

'So there have been others?'

'Many,' he grunted, swinging the blade at her again. 'All so trusting.'

Glo scrabbled in her bag and pulled out scissors and a scalpel then dropped the bag to give herself more room to manoeuvre. She reversed the hold on the scalpel and threw it. Jean snarled when it entered his throat, he paused for a second to remove it and drop it underfoot.

'And I won't be offering to stitch that up,' she told him, smartly.

He grinned wolfishly at her. The smirk fell from his face when she heaved one of the remaining bales at him, knocking him on his backside. She ducked around him, picked up the scalpel and fled around the side of the barn then screamed as a pair of warm arms grabbed her and held on, whilst, a well known voiced ordered, 'Don't struggle!' 

She went limp with relief then straightened up saying urgently, 'I know why I'm different.'

'So do we,' Bobby replied, 'Now stay behind me,' he went on, letting her go, handing her his machete from it's scabbard around his waist and digging out a plastic bag of green powder from his pocket. He stepped out into the open with a handful of powder. 

Jean, having rolled from under the bale, came to a screeching halt when he beheld Bobby, then he smiled slowly and raised his voice,

'I'll just deal with this foolish man, Gloria then you.'

'Give it your best shot, pal,' Bobby growled, feinting with the handful of powder.

Jean didn't even flinch but he did keep an eye on Gloria when she emerged from Bobby's shadow, blade at the ready.

Suddenly, from the trees at the other side of the barn, a quad bike roared around the corner and skidded, at speed, between Bobby and Jean. Dean, his hair flying in the wind, steered in a circle around Jean whilst Sam cascaded powder from two different bags, all over him, shouting an incantation as he did so.

The look of surprised horror on Jean's face was almost comical. His hand flew to his neck as he tried to draw in a breath but the hole he'd torn in his throat when wrenching out the scalpel was already pouring blood down his shirt front. In seconds he collapsed on his knees then fell onto his side.

Dean cut the engine, the sudden silence broken by a single gurgle as Jean's hands dropped away. 

For several seconds nothing more happened. Bobby reached behind him and brought Gloria to his side again. Dean and Sam kept their gaze fixed on the body. A chilly breeze sprang up, ruffling Jean's shirt and blowing grey dust towards Bobby and Glo. He moved them to the side, out of the way. Glo thought it was some of the powder that had been thrown but then she noticed that his hands had turned a darker grey, as had the rest of his skin that she could see. Jean's shirt and trousers began to collapse in on themselves and in less than three minutes, only a pile of discarded clothing and a pair of boots were all that remained.

'That didn't happen to the Graingers,' Glo said quietly. 

'Told you, he's been around a lot longer than they had. Nearest we can figure, about two centuries.' 

'He didn't intend to let me go, think he was pretty annoyed he'd accidentally raised me.'

'Not surprised he wouldn't want another one running around like him, with maybe a touch more power than him,' Dean said.

Gloria raised her eyebrows at him.

'Well you did take his little band of soldiers from him, without apparent effort. Not heard of that happening before.'

'Probably because he killed anyone else he raised who turned out like me.'

'No rivals allowed,' Sam said.

'And you didn't need my help to make Backhouse powder that works. Not even sure if what he told me was the truth now,' she mused, starting at the remains of her rival.

'Did he say why you were different?' Bobby asked, signalling to Dean and Sam to pick up the clothes and boots, and generally tidy the scene.

'Because I wasn't quite dead when he raised me.'

'OK, we got that one then,' he said, guiding her behind he barn.

'I left my car back there,' Glo said, pointing across the field.

'Give me the keys.' Bobby threw them at Sam. 'Bring Glo's car back, will you?' Without waiting for an answer he put his arm around her shoulders and continued towards his truck.

'How did you find me?' Gloria asked.

Bobby grinned. 'The whizz kids tracked your mobile via GPS.'

Gloria laughed out loud before asking, 'We're going home, aren't we?'

Bobby just hugged her and nodded.

'And you can tell me what else he said before he went for you with that carving knife.'

 

The journey back took several hours, not the several days it had taken Gloria to find Jean, mainly because they were taking a direct route rather than circling in on a quarry.

After Gloria had told Bobby what Jean had told her, he gave his opinion that, 'He was probably involved in the slave revolts in Haiti. After they declared independence a lot of the people left the island and settled in New Orleans.'

'I think the ones he butchered were like me, and him. He said we were Chiefs and there had been many of us, all so trusting.'

Dusk had fallen when they pulled up in her driveway, Dean and Sam behind. 

Bobby had gone quieter and quieter the nearer they got to her home, for which reason Gloria was determined not to prolong the agony. As soon as they stopped she chivvied the younger men towards the graveyard, Bobby following on behind.

An awkward silence enveloped them, as they stood in a loose semi-circle around her.

'Come on, no messing,' she said.

Sam surprised her by a hugging her and whispering, 'Bye Glo.'

She hugged him back and was better prepared when Dean flung his one working arm around her.

Both boys stepped back then turned and looked expectantly at Bobby who coughed and swallowed and swiped ineffectually at his wet cheeks. He tried twice to start the incantation but didn't get beyond the first phrase.

Glo walked forward and kissed his knuckles. 'Thank you, Bobby,' she whispered, holding onto his hands between both of hers. She smiled and nodded at him.

Dean let a handful of his powder drift over her; it smelt a little musky, Sam added to it. Immediately the scent of rich, green growing things wafted over her, as the second powder settled on her skin and hair. It felt cool where it touched her.

She began to feel light and peaceful, virtually weightless as Bobby reached the end of the incantation. She smiled dreamily. Then, as if all her old body mass had suddenly descended on her at once, she felt earthbound and heavy. Her left arm dropped away from Bobby's hands, a useless weight at her side and the acid burn in her chest quickly grew from a tiny spark to a roaring conflagration, all the way up her sternum and into her jaws.

She started to shake as the pain blossomed through her. She tried so hard to close her mouth on the moan of pain but it emerged anyway and opened the floodgates.

'God it hurts!' she gasped and immediately felt nauseous. 

Her vision greyed out and she felt sweat pour out of her skin in response to the sudden agony. From far away she could hear someone shouting her name then warm arms folded around her shaking frame.

'Gloria! Gloria I’m sorry, so sorry!' Bobby said, lowering her down to the grass and holding her as she shivered and shook. 

She felt his arms tighten around her. He didn't let go even when her sweat soaked through her cotton top. She felt him touch her neck then her wrist.

'Sam,' she heard him say, suddenly strangely calm. 'Call nine one one.'

'What?'

'She's got a heartbeat.'

'Shit!'

 

Gloria opened her eyes slowly. The room was dim, she could hear the beep of machines and she felt stiff, as if she'd been in one position for a while.

An out of focus face hovered into view above hers.

'Gloria! How are you feeling?'

'Eva?' Her voiced croaked. It felt as if she hadn’t spoken in an age.

'Yes, it’s me.'

'What happened?'

'You had a heart attack.'

'A hospital is the right place for one,' she said slowly.

Eva giggled but it sounded forced.

A flood of images assaulted Gloria; a man called Bobby; two younger men; the walking dead. She laughed in relief. It had all been a dream, a really odd, vivid dream.

'I’ve been having some weird dreams. Really weird.'

'What about?'

'I might tell you later,' Gloria said, laughing in heartfelt relief.

Nurse Longhurst laughed, this time it sounded more natural. She leaned forward suddenly and embraced Gloria saying, 'Oh, I am so glad you’re alright. I was so worried about you.'

Clumsily Gloria tried to return the embrace without disturbing all the wires attached to her body.

'Oh, bless you child!'

Longhurst drew back, sniffing and wiped her face, laughing at the same time, as she did so which allowed Gloria to catch sight of all the flowers around her bed. 

'Who bought all those?'

'Some are from us, those are from Dr and Mrs Goddard,' she said, pointing to a large, elegant arrangement of yellow roses and orange chrysanthemums.

'And those?' Gloria asked, pointing to a particularly large bunch of mixed flowers. Her arm felt sore and achy at the movement. She looked down and saw the long plaster. 'Did you have to do a venous cut down?' Gloria asked, not waiting for a reply on the flowers.

'We found you with that cut. Or rather we didn't, your cousin did then got you in here for treatment,' Eva replied, smiling brightly at her. 

'Cousin?' Gloria questioned, knowing she didn't have a living relative left in the world.

'Bobby. Him and his sons have been visiting every day. They bought you that huge flower arrangement the day after you were brought in here.'

Gloria could hear the monitor faithfully report her speeding heartbeat as her breathing sounded noisily in her own ears and her vision greyed with sparkling black dots at the edges.

From a great distance she could hear, 'Gloria? Gloria, what's wrong?'


End file.
